


Primary Colors

by ClockGuts



Series: Tints and Shades [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anxiety, Blow Jobs, Bottom Hank, Color Theory, Couch Cuddles, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, First Time Blow Jobs, First Times, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friendship, Gay, Good End, Heavy Angst, Hurt and comfort, Kisses, Loneliness, Multi, NSFW, Oral Sex, Public Arousal, Seduction, Sex, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Upgrades, Virus, Wall Pinning, Wire Play, android suicide, barbie doll anatomy at first!, both parts, connor needs to be praised for his good boy behavior, dual sex organs, early morning sex, got a beta part way through whaaat, no beta we die like men, sexual pleasure bot, there are fish and birds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 54,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15394005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClockGuts/pseuds/ClockGuts
Summary: “Hey, we’re here.”Connor is brought back from his yellow cycle, shifting to face Hank, looking at him intently, before turning back to the front window. He is glad to be here, he is doing good, he is undoing his wrongs…“Hank, after this, would you be interested in dinner?”“I thought you didn’t eat?”“I do not, but I…do not wish to return to my room right away.”He detects signs of distress from Hank, as if the other is worried for him, it is flattering, but this was not the intended purpose of his request.“Fuck, well, Yeah, Connor…I guess we can go somewhere?”_________________________________________________________Alternatively:Adjusting to living with a new, wider range of emotions has begun to wear heavily on Connor, who is looking for both companionship and mentorship from a reluctant Hank. While struggling to come to terms with what Connor really wants, a slew of android suicides has the DPD on edge for what it might mean post revolution.Assigned the case, Both Hank and Connor must face the cruel concept that perhaps even when something is done with good intentions; it is not always what the other person was made for.





	1. Zaffre

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! This will be a three part series, that I have broken up into smaller sub-sections for the ease of the reader!  
> If the response is good I intend to do a sequel series, but that might be for much later.  
> Thank you for your interest in this fic! I promise much more interesting ideals in the second half.  
> I am incredibly anxious to post this, since I write pretty often but this is my first fan-fiction since 2013! Sorry my English skills are lacking!  
> Please leave a kudos or a comment if you see an error or if you liked something in particular! Your support will help me work toward a higher quality! 
> 
> POV in this will switch per section before eventually merging into something more cohesive :)

 

Primary Colors

Part one: Zaffre

It’s 10:06 in the morning, and Hank Anderson is late for work.

The radio chimes softly from the dash of a beaten down, manually driven car. Hank is only half listening, half paying attention to the road. The sound doesn’t interest him, but it seems to keep the peace between silence and self-loathing, so he lets it play to fill up the dry air.

_“It has been a month since the citizens of Detroit were allowed back to their homes. The Android Revolution has seemingly begun to calm down, but with it have come very human altercations among android kind.”_

_“Androids are now experiencing splinter groups of radicalism that still believe violence will produce a better outcome for the discrepancies between our species.”_

Hank debates shutting it off, the idea that they have so readily started segregating issues by breed is enough to remind him of the 2018 era, race segregated crime, even if the crimes were the exact same. It always benefited one side more, he wasn’t about to believe it wouldn’t lean toward humans any less than it already did. Though the radio still babbles away, happy as can be with its updates, letting Hank know the weather (both political and literal), the traffic, and the rate of unemployment. It has only gotten worse since the android revolution. Why hire a human with no experience when an android built for the job is looking for work to afford their new freedom.

The air freshener hanging from his mirror bounces and swings as he drives.

It has long since lost its smell, but the Cyberlife triangle is a strange comfort to him with its soft, sky twinkle. It is designed to fluctuate color, he wonders how that was a good idea when not distracting drivers. Till he recalls he is one of the only manual drivers left in the area.

He rips it off the mirror. It’s probably insensitive to Connor anyway.

Exiting off the main road he pulls up to the DPD station, it’s a welcoming sight, a home away from home, and for the time being it’s been a useful distraction from any introspection he has been dipping his toes into. He would rather dip into a bottle, but most of his have come up missing.

He blames Connor.

Hank parks, terribly at that, his car is half over one line and the rear is crooked, but he’s too tired and too prideful to back up and try again. Exiting the car he slams the door shut and nearly slips on ice in the DPD parking lot. Hank is quick to scan around and make sure no one has seen his near death experience.

There is no one.

He is spared ridicule for now.

The DPD doors swing open for him automatically, sensing the presence of a warm body. Hank is glad that there is no one to automatically greet him. Most people were surprised to see him come back to the station after the uprising at all. They knew he had been practically abducted by a Connor look-alike. It had been reported, and they figured with an event like that the old dog would hang up his coat, and submit his gun and badge. Hank decided instead to die with this job. It just wouldn’t be in the lot. Karma clearly wished to reprimand him for his shitty parking. Because she gave him a living entity to remind Hank of every wrong choice he made.

There he is, primed, dressed too nicely, and looking like he rolled off the manufacturing belt.

“Connor, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Good morning lieutenant! –He sounds as recorded as he always does- You have arrived late, again, and with an elevated heart rate, are you alright?”

“Nearly broke my ass, but I’m fine.”

He invaded his own desk space, shooing the android out of his chair where he had taken over.

There is a coffee on his desk, it’s still steaming, he knows where it is from, but tries to ignore it for the time being. Connor is too nice to him these days and it's beginning to worry him. Hank appears disheveled, he is wearing a shirt that is certainly dirty. His pants have stains, and his large coat is disguising the rest of his frame in some sort of anxious shame. Detroit weather lets him often hide his terrible personality behind strange fashion.

Connor, to contrast this, is obviously as impeccably dressed as always. Since Cyberlife’s reintegration with the android world, they released new uniforms that were less telling for its people. Instead, Connor’s new suit no longer advertised he was anything different than just a DPD assistant detective.

Hank’s assistant.

Which Hank felt was backwards, Connor did far more work than him.

“We have been selected for a case, Lieutenant. Fowler told me the information was at your desk.”

“So you took over the entire thing?”

He rolls to face the android, who has perched himself on the desk opposing his own. Sometimes Hank isn’t sure if Connor feels comfortable sitting like a normal human.

Maybe his fat ass just finds the idea of leaning on a desk painful.

“I did not think you would be bothered by me doing a bit of research before you arrived at work.”

“You calculating my arrival time again?”

“Perhaps…”

Connor seemed almost shyly cheeky about the whole thing, his eyes cutting over to the still steaming coffee on Hanks desk.

Begrudgingly, Hank picked the drink up and gave it a sip, it burned the tip of his tongue and ate away the top layer of skin along his throat. His lack of a reaction to the burning was defiant masochism. Connor seemed a little concerned, or maybe perturbed by his behavior, but did not press him, instead his LED cycled blue to yellow, stayed there momentarily, and then shifted back to the cool cyan Hank understood as calm.

“So, you already looked over the file, tell me what the case is about and save me the time.”

What was the point if the android had already done the hard work for him. Connor tended to do that these days anyway. Most of the small, petty crime cases they had solved since the revolution were because of this RK800 model. Hank did not want to admit that it was beginning to make him feel slightly obsolete. This wasn’t about him, it was about the job, it was about keeping people safe. It was also about keeping Connor happy.

Connor himself had begun to ramble on about the case, mentioning this or that, something about the hijacking of a blue-blood van. Hank was only half paying attention, tired, maybe a little hung over, and fighting off the urge to spiral into his intrusive thoughts. Work was good Work kept him focused Work kept him from getting lost watching Connor as he spoke with such passion about their future crime scene.

When the RK800 had declared he would be staying with the DPD instead of returning to work with the other diplomatic Androids, Hank had admittedly been pleased. He liked working with Connor, found the others odd behavior annoying but enjoyable, and now he knew that the other truly seemed to desire continuing his initial programming. Detective work. Want, was a strange term though, he never fully knew if Connor wanted for anything. He seemed to want to make Hank happy, wanted to solve cases, and was currently wanting Hank to pay attention to him. Snapping back to reality he looked past Connors eyes and down to his nose, nodding a little. It is a fake sign, to placate Connor.

“Lieutenant, are you paying attention?” He seems temporarily put off, as if offended, before quickly altering his mental path to a sass-sub rout. “Or should I wait till the caffeine has begun to temporarily enhance your brain function?”

“Don’t @ me Connor.”

Hank rubbed his forehead, before dragging his hand down the entirety of his untrimmed face, smirking behind the palm of his hand. Taking a few more gulps, he settles more comfortably into his chair and opens up the files on his tablet, swiping through them.

“You said someone stole a blue-blood truck?”

“Yes, but it showed back up this morning, the android driver was dead, and the contents of the van are missing, we have been requested to review the crime scene, we should have been there two hours ago.” Hank sighs loudly, forcing himself up with a few strained grunts, his joints rebelling.

Coffee comes with him.

“Let’s get going then before anyone begins to bitch.” He knew they would at the scene, but there was little that motivated him more than Connors excited prance out the door. Hank briefly wondered how Connor got here this morning, before shoving the idea aside and exiting to see the android admiring his parking. Clapping him on the shoulder, Hank pulled out his keys and unlocked the doors with a click.

“If you mention it I am making you ride in the back.” Which was full of dog hair and empty bottles, a real threat to the near compulsive cleanliness standards Connor holds.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lieutenant.” Connor spoke calmly, slipping into the passenger side and automatically flipping through the cars internal music selection, looking for a preferred song. The Lieutenant appreciated Connor’s attempt at a human decency, and started up the car. He knew Connor would provide him with apple maps worthy directional skills to the scene. Hank is certain Connor has noticed the missing air freshener, but says nothing, he only smiles a little. Something he is getting better at as the months pass.

.. -. -.. .. --. ---

There was no question in Connors mind that when he had gained his own freedom, he would help Lieutenant Hank Anderson also achieve his own. Alleviate his partners pain, elevate his morale, and find a way to reconnect him with humanity. Hank deserved it, Hank had helped him become who he was. Of course, not being a human himself, this was proving more difficult than he initially intended.

Hank was observant, jaded, and dissatisfied with life. He kept those facts displayed just under his police badge. This urge to better decipher the man had been one of the driving factors in his decision to stay with the DPD. It had dissatisfied Markus, but Connor felt that this was where he belonged, and to deny him his own feelings was against Markus’ core beliefs. It gave Connor confidence in his motives, as he continued to solve small cases with the lieutenant, who kept telling him nothing stayed this quiet for long, nothing could stay calm. And he had been right.

Connor was awoken from his artificial stasis by a call to the DPD early in the morning, a summons to a crime scene that had been discovered by an unfortunate nanny who had taken her gaggle of children to a park. Only to find a dead android and a crashed van. Leaving his small studio apartment at new Jericho, he had arrived at the DPD at 8am on the dot, and as expected, Lieutenant Anderson was not present. Several texts and one call were sent to the Lieutenants phone, all of which appeared to of been read, but were ignored, Connor assumed in favor of sleep. Hank is certainly a project, but not one Connor has taken on lightly.

There was no automatic fix for depression, and there was no instant cure for years of alcohol abuse. But he was steadily infiltrating the others home more and more regularly, encouraging the other to adopt more healthy habits. Providing the other with a coffee in the morning would be a good peace offering. Inevitably, trying later to steer him to eating a salad. Chicken Feed could survive a day without his patronage.

Hank would disagree.

Alone at the others desk, Connor spent the good half of two hours scanning the files, running background checks, and cross referencing everything he could. They would be well prepared whenever Hank arrived, reaching the scene was the next logical step, and he was becoming frustrated with the others absence. He picked up Hank’s coffee, using his palm to reheat the liquid a third time. He would be here soon.

It was nearing 10, by all of Connor’s calculations; this was Hank Anderson’s optimal arrival time.

Connor was not wrong.

The man himself enters into the bullpen as if he is the owner, at least that is the expression Connor believes is correct when describing Hank.

He could describe Hank with many words though, and not just from analyzing him within a fraction of a second. Hank was tired, worn, unkempt and likely a tad bit hung-over from the weekend. But he also seemed determined, and a little shaken. Upon running a quick scan Connor could confirm the others BPM was elevated. But Connor could confirm a lot about Hank Anderson. What he couldn’t confirm however was how the other was fairing emotionally. Not right away. The elder man was adapting rapidly to Connor’s behavioral profiling, and it was slowly becoming frustrating.

Instead, he was forced to learn the others habits, get to know him better.

But that was what he was designed to do. Improvise, adapt, overcome….Hank had made some sort of joke about that earlier in the month, a meme, he had called it. He had done an internet search and recovered an old survivalist TV program. Connor would not have gotten along with the host.

Connor was terrible at improvising.

But he knew Hank was amazing at it.

Just as he was amazing at being ungrateful. While he had taken the peace offering of caffeine, he had not given Connor any thanks, which frustrated him.

Yet, Hank would have called him a brat for vocalizing his woes, so he kept his mouth shut and let the other burn himself instead of warning the Lieutenant about the temperature of the coffee. They stared intently at one another as Hank fought back a pained expression, and Connor effortlessly masked his own entertainment. It was only seven minutes later that they were in Hank’s car and on their way to the scene, Connor in the front seat only because he did not comment on Hank’s inability to follow parking procedure. He must have been exceptionally tired if he had decided to leave his car like that. It was the statistical explanation.

“Would you like me to repeat the case outline for you, Lieutenant?”

“Sure kid, go for it.”

Connor bit back a small feeling of frustration at being labeled as a child, before accessing the case data from the open network.

“There was a report of a blue-blood van being stolen four days ago, the driver also was reported missing, DPD put out alerts for the missing vehicle, as well as filing a missing persons report but there was little success. Earlier this morning however a local care-taker discovered the van crashed into a local park tree, the android driver inside was deceased, but had died of their regulator being removed, not the crash.” He paused to take an unnecessary breath, before continuing. “All 250 bags of Thirium have gone missing, and there are currently no leads on whether or not this was an android or human organized crime.”

_Missing ‘person’_

_Apparent suicide_

_Stolen Thirium_

There are only a few dialogue options hank has to choose from, Connor begins to make mental bets on which he will pick. Hank is nodding slowly as Connor waits, processing the information before opening his mouth to speak, then closing it. Connor does not talk while waiting for the Lieutenant to speak.

“What could they even be doing with the blue-blood?”

Connor is not surprised that Hank has chosen the least personal rout. There was little re-sell value on something that was not being mass produced by Jericho for its own people. Connor only shrugged, an action he had adapted from watching Hank for too long.

“I’m not sure, we will have to analyze the crime scene to be able to determine potential motive.”

Hank nods, accepting this as a valid explanation. He is more lenient when the crimes involve androids, because he knows that Connor understands them better. Despite this, Connor does not feel readily accepted by his own kind. A feeling he has not confidently expressed to Hank. Though he had tried, when the other suggested that he live among his own people at New Jericho, Connor’s hesitance was mistaken as nervousness.

In reality, Connor had not wanted to live there, because despite being around several androids, he found it to be excruciatingly lonely. Very few androids there were willing to readily look past his initial programming.

The deviant hunter.

A title that was not comforting, if anything, Connor had found it brought with it condemnation. His LED spins yellow as he processes these thoughts, how with this feeling of being ostracized, despite having freed all of Cyberlife, Connor was lonely… Hank alleviated that loneliness. He therefore was determined to spend more time with Hank, than back at New Jericho. And if his only opportunity to do that was at work, than Connor was going to make sure they were able to get more cases together. Despite Hank’s initial protests.

“Hey, we’re here."

Connor is brought back from his yellow cycle, shifting to Hank, looking at him intently, before turning back to the front window. He is glad to be here, he is doing good, he is undoing his wrongs…

“Hank, after this, would you be interested in dinner?”

“I thought you didn’t eat?”

“I do not, but I…do not wish to return to my room right away.”

He detects signs of distress from Hank, as if the other is worried for him, it is flattering, but this was not the intended purpose of his request.

“Fuck, well, Yeah, Connor…I guess we can go somewhere?”

Hank clearly wishes to probe him, but instead one of the local officers who had set up the holo-barriers is knocking on Connor’s window.

He steps out of the car without telling Hank thank you, it is revenge.

Connor is not above frustrating the Lieutenant. Hank is certainly aware.

Another android approaches them, Gavin in tow, he appears disheveled and ultimately annoyed. Connor does not remember him fondly, he also does not remember Cornelius fondly. This “superior” model, having been released by Cyberlife, was assigned to Gavin Reed as a practical joke by Fowler. Then, surprisingly (and only to the humans) he was good at his job. COnnor had feared this however, all the advanced androids had been released into the public, and were already overcoming their original designs.

However unpleasant Connor found Cornelius, the partnership had become permanent. And Gavin complained constantly.

“The Thirium reported stolen has yet to be recovered, and there is evidence of suicide from within the cabin. It appears as if the android crashed post-mortem, likely due to its weight on the gas pedal.” “They would o’known that from the report.”

Gavin cuts into Cornelius dialogue.

Hank appears to be fighting back his own urge to cut the android off as well.

“Why are you two here?”

“It’s a public park, Anderson, they wanted someone to scan the scene before more kids showed up. We’ve almost finished coverin’ what we can. But the Comish’ insisted we wait for the veterans. Waste of our time for fucks sake.”

Gavin is clearly displeased, and the way he says veterans might as well have been code for ‘old and obsolete.’

Connor notes Hank’s fists clench and his heart rate pick up, his temperature also rises. He knows Cornelius will have also seen this. So he begins to lead Hank away by crowding him like a collie.

“Thank you, RK900, we will finish our own investigation and the cleanup crew will be allowed to remove the body and vehicle.”

“Good luck, RK800.”

Neither of them believes the other means any of it.

They proceed to the crime. Rogue Park is 1,181 acres of green space, which features 12 playgrounds, 3 swimming pools, a golf course, 7 miles of paved hiking trails- Connor cuts himself off as he stops analyzing the park itself.

This is a very busy area; people often bring their children here. And the van is strategically crashed near one of the more popular playgrounds. It is rammed into a large red oak tree, which used to have a tree swing from a larger branch. This branch has fallen due to the impact the tree sustained. It was likely weak from years of children (and adults) wearing it down. The front of the van is concaved and it has split to wrap around the oak’s trunk.

Connor knows the force of this impact would have killed a human, but the only entity inside the van is an android.

No less of a life however, and Hank is eyeing him as he always does. Gauging his reaction to the crime scene. Hank worries for him now that he has deviated, because Connor has not been doing this as long as Hank has.

So Hank worries Connor is not yet immune.

Connor worries because he is entirely still immune.

He experiences an error, pausing to process it, file it away for later, his vision and LED flashing red.

It is gone just as fast, and he returns to the case.

Connor has his doubts, surely like Cornelius did, that this was a murder.

That does not explain the missing product, however.

He advances to the androids side, beginning to scan him over before moving even closer. Hank has stepped away to look through the back of the van, checking where the Thirium used to be stored. The android is slumped over the steering wheel due to the impact, his shoulder is dislocated, legs clearly jammed around the gas pedal. An audio processor has blown out with the force of impact against the steering wheel. Connor notes a dislodged optic on the dash of the van, it is damaged, and likely irreparable. His skin has retracted due to trauma to the processor, the white of his remaining optic is a dark, eerie indigo. The Thirium pump is missing as stated, it is on the floor of the passenger seat. The passenger seat is scuffed as if another being was present during the crash.  
  
_Potential second party?_

Connor avoids looking at the missing pump. He is sure that there is more damage to be found, but for now he has to determine the make and model, no…the name and duty of the android.

There is a soft, nagging idea that Hank has moved out of his line of sight to not watch Connor scan the Thirium spatter from the android in the van. It is done so as always, two digits pressing against the damp uniform of the driver as he extracts enough Thirium, placing it against his tongue and running the android through his data-banks.

Given name: Jeremy

DR500 model: designed originally for shipping jobs across the US.

Was in service to Cyberlife before the revolution. He had retained his position after the revolution, and there were no reports of negative behavior before the vehicles disappearance.

His deviation date is marked as taking place during Markus’ first demonstration.

Connor wonders if reactivating him briefly would be of any use to their case. But he has a feeling this wound was self inflicted.

The Thirium being gone was likely just an opportunistic crime due to there being no cameras in the park. Hank seems to think the same, as he comes around to watch Connor continue to examine the body. He has no fingerprints, so touching the corpse is not a risk.

“I think we’ll probably see this stuff show up on the binary market soon enough.”

“I must agree…Can we have this body taken back for examination? Reactivation for a memory uplink might be of use to us, simply to rule out murder.”

“You still think it could be a hate crime?”

“I am not unconvinced…”

Hank nodded, stepping away from the vehicle and leaving to talk to one of the officers. There is a tow truck here to take away the vehicle, cleanup crews are preparing to sanitize the area. There time here is running out. Connor wishes that Hank had been on time this morning, for a multitude of reasons.

.--. .... - .... .- .-.. ---

 

Hank hates to admit it, but Connor has made him feel nostalgic for his youth. For a time before his failed marriage, for a time before Cole, maybe for a time before alcohol. It’s difficult to accept that he’s begun to regret his life more than he already did. But being with Connor seems to both help and hinder his progress. He finds it difficult to adapt to new ways of living. He’s used to being able to escape androids whenever he dipped into the right bar, or simply at work. Now Connor is at his heels constantly, like a cattle dog, Hank is glad Connor doesn’t bite.

Connor is owed a dinner, however, and after making sure all the evidence is recovered and the body is brought back to the station. They fill out paperwork in silence till their shift ends. Hank escorts Connor back out to his car.

“How did you get to work this morning?” or ever, now that he thinks about it…

“I took public transport after walking for a short period of time.”

It was a few miles, but Connor did not wish to disturb Hank by telling him the exact number. Hank did not value physical exertion very much. Hank also did not value Connor trying to urge him to eat somewhere different. Different meant healthier, and despite it being in ‘the name of broadening ones horizons’.

Hank called bullshit and drove them to the chicken feed.

The case didn’t seem too rough, but Hank is well aware that Connor seems frustrated, perhaps even at him. He’s been distracted though. Focusing on trying to get himself back together and rip himself apart all at once. It’s difficult, but he moves back to the cruiser with Connor and his meal.

“You doing alright there, Connor?”

It’s not asked out of obligation. Connor had been unusually quiet, he didn’t even protest when Hank ordered a double cheeseburger instead of a single.

“I am...thinking about the case. I wish to reactivate the android. But the case reports all indicate suicide...would that be wrong of me?”

Hank has never been one to take suicide lightly, unless it was his own. So he shifts uncomfortably in the seat, deciding to drive them somewhere else to eat with a better view, and less snow.

“If there is a chance he was murdered for the Thirium, I think we should do it. Couldn’t you make that other air plastic-prick wake him up?” He means Cornelius. Both he and Connor know his name, but not saying it is more satisfactory.

“I could, but this was assigned to us. However we were not on time to the crime scene, I believe Fowler has not officially handed it over.”

Hank shifted uncomfortably. So Connor is irritated at him for that move. He stays quiet for a while, longing to fill the silence with music. But he doesn’t have the balls to shut Connor out like that and turn it on.

Recently Connor has begun to feel like Hank is not paying attention to him. It is a childish feeling, but he has concluded that is the source of his frustration.

Though He is slightly perturbed, and that is about the case. Everything seemed so perfectly placed, it does not make sense. Because it makes too much sense. An android died, and opportunistic individuals took the product left behind. Though why was he missing for several days? Had there been someone else with the android at the time of its death?

The car parks at a perch near the river, Connor remembers Hank pulled a gun on him here.

That feels simultaneously like it was eons ago, as well as yesterday. It stings to remember.

Hank is content with eating his burger, watching Connor occasionally, he likely is wondering if he’s being scanned, calories counted, carbohydrates corroding his arteries.

Electing to not comment on it, Connor leans back and shuts his eyes, his LED spinning yellow, constantly, they go on like that for maybe a solid minute, the only noises breathing and eating. It becomes excruciatingly loud in Hanks human opinion. Hank begins to worry the other might be over thinking, so he reached over gently and prods his partner, careful about it.

“Hey, Connor.”

Connor’s eyes open again, and he observes Hank. Hank is safe, Hank is confident in him. Hank supports him. But does Hank listen...?

“What uh...what was your first, ya know....feeling? The first time you felt alive...? -he seems to re-think that statement before changing it to.- What was your first deviation?”

Connor is slightly surprised by this question. It was not one he was anticipating, and not something he had truly ever given much thought to. Not recently, anyway. The events surrounding his deviation were not his most glorious moment. It hadn’t truly been what he had ever thought would happen. If he was honest, he had assumed Hank would cause it. If he was even more honest. Connor had tried not to think about deviating at all. It had not been a part of his mission. Or had that been his mission all along? It hurt him to think about, his LED cycling from blue, to yellow, then red, before back to blue once again. The android felt self aware enough to know while Hank may not of been there, he had helped. He looks out the window at the snow, his brows knitting together, a crease forming between his eyes.

“I....” Cutting himself off, he rolls his mental timeline back as far as it goes. It settles on his first big trial case. The hostage situation.

“I have told you about my success with the android hostage, on the roof?”

Hank nods, he remembers, this is a good sign, Connor proceeds.

“I had entered their home, and the deviant...-he catches himself slipping back into old wording, all androids are deviant now, a deviant android is just an android. A deeply troubled person.- the fish tank had been broken during the struggle. There was a gourami on the floor, it is a species of large fish, quite expensive at that size. It was suffocating. There was no reason for me to pity it, no reason for me to pause my mission and put it back.”

“But you did?”

Hank cuts in, he has stopped eating to turn his whole upper half toward Connor. He is pleased with this level of attention. He likes Hanks attention.

“Yes, I picked it up and placed it back in the tanks remaining water.”

Connor refocuses out the car window with a gentle but useless sigh.

“That is my first memory of...doing something without purpose...”

“A lot of what humans do is kinda purposeless.” Hank sips off his soda and the straw honks against the lid. “But I guess you’ve been saving lives even before you knew why.”

Connor is not sure how much value he would place on the life of a fish over the lives of those he was assigned to save. But… Hank is smiling, it makes Connor smile, too.


	2. Majorelle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Be forewarned that there are suicidal themes discussed among androids (following part one) and also large amounts of fluff to buffer it! Thank you for reading and I am honestly surprised by the amount of support I already received!
> 
> graphic at the top done by myself (same user on tumblr, very new there as well!) 
> 
> LED Gifs made by the amazing tahonard on DA !

 

Part two  
_Majorelle_

  
Hank insisted on driving Connor back to his home at New Jericho. Which has made Connor very uncomfortable. He isn’t sure he wants hank to see his living quarters because he knows it will upset Hanks inevitable drive to make everything more human and thus homey.

Hank doesn’t care, he’s already half way to New Jericho, trying to get some conversation out of Connor.

“So is it nice living here?”

“I find it...tolerable?”

Connor does not want to lie, but he doesn’t want to disappoint Hank, either.

“So you don’t like it.”  
“I never said that.”  
“Your face and tone did.”  
“My tone has not changed, Hank.”

Hank appears to wish to say something that is crass, but thinks better of it.

“Are your neighbors fucking all the time or-?”  
“-no, Hank, they are not interfacing loudly with one another. I do not speak to my neighbors.”

They didn’t speak to him, generally anyway.

Hank is smirking because Connor has been using his actual name, which means despite not wanting to admit it, the subject is touchy.

“Do you hate it, Connor?”  
“New Jericho is very nice to house me-  
“Connor! Do you hate it?”

He is silent as they pull up to the tall apartment complex that has been designated an Android haven. He stares up at the building, only some of the rooms lit at this hour.

“I am not fond of it, no.”

“Well then let’s get your shit and get out.” Hank puts his car into park and leaves the car without question, and Connor is quick to exit, nearly distressed over the lieutenants decision.

Hank is also distressed, his heart is racing a little. But he doesn’t like the idea of Connor hating where he lives, he doesn’t like the idea of Connor being upset.  
And to a degree, if Connor has hated it all this time, a lot more makes sense.

Why Connor didn’t want to go home at night.  
Why Connor randomly crashed at his house.  
Why Connor spent extra long at the office.  
Why Connor came in extremely early.

He should have noticed sooner. He should have been paying attention.

Hank felt guilty. And sincerely hoped he would not regret this.

“ _Lieutenant-_  
-oh so now it’s Lieutenant?”

Hank rolls his eyes, pocketing his keys and then both hands to avoid getting a chill. “Let’s go Connor we don’t have all night. The roads are going to get icy.”

Hank refused to drive when it got to be this sort of weather. Connor knew exactly why.

He moves quickly toward the building, well aware of its policy.

“They may not let you inside.”  
“Fuck them.”  
“Please, things are still sensitive, they know who you are.”  
“Does it look like I care what a pack of androids fucking thinks?” Several months ago Hank didn’t even have opinions on whether or not they could think.

Connor fidgets nervously, his LED cycles from blue to yellow, then back again.

“Please, wait here, I will collect my things and we can leave?”  
“Nah, I wanna see where they have you held up.”

Hank charges onward, like a bulldog on a tight leash, and comes up to the gate as if he will climb it himself to get in.

Connor finds this misguided but admirable, and places his hand on the doors activation keypad, which allows him entrance after the box speaks in a polite voice.

_“Welcome back RK800, designation: Connor.”_

Connor does not take the time to give it much thought, he enters in quickly after Hank to corral him and take him back toward the proper elevator.

Hank wants to be in and out as soon as possible himself. There is no way to act like he isn’t uncomfortable.  
Even the receptionist, who he recognizes as a Chloe, is staring at him with a pensive, scrutinizing expression. He does not like the way it feels on his back when Connor leads him to an elevator.

They step inside, and he rocks back and forth on his heels, trying to quell his nerves. He’s sure Connor can tell, but it’s best if he just ignores it himself for now.

“So how much stuff you got?”  
“Very little.”  
“You didn’t decorate?”  
“There is no need to, I require very little to function.”  
“But you didn’t even try to spice it up? Make it a little personal?”  
Connor’s face tells him all he needs to know, and it isn’t even that dramatic.  
“That’s depressing.” Hank looks away and shakes his head.

Connor is deeply upset by the others lack of approval, this is a clear sign he is not doing a very good job at adapting to having feelings, let alone being human.

His expression only shows a slightly pensive distaste, and he looks at the floor.

“It will be easier to collect my things this way.”

Hank just nods. He is glad Connor hasn’t pressed him on just why this makes him uncomfortable. Maybe that’s a selfish thought. But he doesn’t want to think too deeply about it himself. Finding answers would only make him angrier, and he doesn’t want to be angry at Connor.

He wants Connor to be happy. Or at least to feel welcome. And he welcomes the other into his home so often he might as well make it a permanent ordeal.

The elevator chimes open and Hank is the first one out, followed by Connor who leads him down the proper hallway.  
It takes only a few paces to be at the door with his serial number plastered on the front. Hank thinks this is a strange but efficient way to determine this Connor from the few other remaining RK800 prototypes.

Apparently there are also mindless copies stored away. Shells, waiting to be filled in case something happened to this Connor.

Again.

The idea makes Hank feel sick, and he brushes a hand through his hair and attempts to distract himself by looking around the now open room.

Connor is exceptionally sheepish as he steps to the side, Hank can understand why.

“Oh, Connor, I’d of helped you out if you had just asked?”

“I require nothing but the basics to function.”

“But you can still _want_ stuff, Connor, it’s a part of being human! Having a ton of shit you don’t need, wanting other people’s stuff, spending lots of money.” He rolled his eyes and scanned the area. Mostly all he sees is a few android-centric monitors, a diagnostics system for virus and error checks, a small collection of Thirium packs for consumption and a minute amount of personal items.

There is a small Saint Bernard stuffed animal, Connor won it out of a claw machine one night when Hank had taken him to a pizza joint. It had only taken Connor one try.

An exchange of clothes is neatly hung up in an open closet, and there appears to be some cleaning supplies in the bathroom. Nothing else is of note, nothing else makes Hank think ‘yes, this is Connor.’

But then he spots one thing.

Hank smiles, and it’s almost enough to make Connor smile. He’s spotted a picture that was taken of Hank and Connor outside the DPD. Hank is showing off Connor’s new badge. It was of when he had been officially instated.

Connor had been very proud that day, even happy.

He turns back to the lieutenant. “I purchased no furniture, all that is in here was provided by the New Jericho team. I can leave it here.”

Hank nods, going over and picking up a trauma blanket Connor had brought home at some point, as well as his lone photograph. “Alright. Anything else?”

“No, I will collect my personal monitor and stasis uplink and we can depart.”

“Great, this place gives me the creeps.”

Hank wanted to leave as soon as they possibly could.

“Connor? Are you going somewhere?”

Hank jumps, muttering a swear under his breath and looking toward the open door. A youthful looking Android has poked his head into the room. Damn, even android neighbors were nosy…

Connor looks over to the other, having picked up his stuffed animal, he quickly places it on top of the small pile in Hanks arms. He does not seem to be upset about the others presence, which is at least comforting to Hank. If they don’t have a relationship to worry about then telling the other the truth won’t hurt, right?

“He’s leavin’ with me.”

“o-oh?”

“Yes, Ralf, I will be moving in with the Lieutenant for the time being…” Connor sounds selectively emotionless about the entire ordeal. Hank is not offended.

The name takes a few extra seconds to click into place, with his face fixed up Hank did not recognize the gardening unit. He is surprised Connor is on the same floor as your basic dirt pusher. Ralf looks to be in better shape, despite the stutter he has maintained and the twitchy way he eyes Hank like he’s about to be beaten again.

Hank can’t blame the kid, he seems timid, but he tries his best to be calm and collected. He’s worked with trauma victims before, and despite being generally gruff, he understands when to be gentle.

Connor collects the last of his things, cleaning up the apartment as a few Jerrys slip around to stand with Ralph.  
They chatter, and Hank seems to be having a genuinely relaxed conversation with the four androids, something Connor deeply appreciates.

He hears Jerry one discuss how he and his counterparts all work at a new education playground, they help many children grow and interact, teaching them social skills and applicable skills like cooking and basic mechanics.

Hank asks if they are special needs children, the Jerries confirm this, and he tells them he’s glad they are helping out like that. Hank then asks if Ralph helps, and he laughs nervously and says no, he has returned to his position as a gardener, but he tends to scare children, unlike Jerry.

When he is done, Connor goes around to collect Hank, thanking the four and quickly leaving with the Lieutenant to avoid anymore conversation. He now knows for sure that the information about him leaving will travel fast, and he wants to be already gone by the time Markus hears about it.

  
**.- --.. ..- .-. .**

It is four days after Connor moved in with Hank Anderson.  
Four days after the park was cleaned up, body moved into the morgue.  
But most importantly, it is four days that the Lieutenant has been to work on time.  
Hank firmly believes that this is killing him.

Connor is unconvinced. His brief time living with Hank has already been devoted to optimizing the others living situation. Upon arrival he went about downloading several house-care programs, as well as a few hundred meal plans, some dietary restrictions included.

This had frustrated Hank, since his fridge and freezer had been subject to a complete overhaul.  
Sumo’s world had also changed, but the dog certainly thought for the better.

Connor had purchased him canned food that was far more expensive than the kibble Hank had been feeding him. He was given an updated bed, an extreme bath that Hank had unwillingly helped with, and was now receiving walks.

Hank was also sure the walks were going to kill his dog.  
Connor was further convinced Hank just hated exercise of any kind.

This is further confirmed by the fact that Hank is nearly falling asleep at his desk, bored with filling out reports and reactivation of a corpse claims. But also tired from nightly walks with Sumo, less beer than usual, and waking up at 7:00 AM with Connor.

Connor himself is working on his own paperwork. He had been given the all clear to reanimate the suicide victim, if only for a brief ten minutes to prevent shock to the processor.

Since androids were no longer considered property, the access of their memories, as well as unlawful reanimation was considered illegal. The only time this was allowed was because Connor was suspicious of fowl play.

A part of him wished to simply bring the android back and send them to get mental help, but it was currently not within his power. He had ten minutes, he had to make them count.

If that meant finding out the android had, indeed, ended its own life, he would make sure Markus knew. That way the body could be properly disposed of.

Androids were no longer recycled, as it was considered a disservice to the dead. So instead, an android graveyard had been built far to the right of New Jericho. Surrounded by tall trees and a small river to make it quaint, it was littered with newly planted flowers and small stone work graves. Most bodies that filled it were those who had fallen during the uprising. But now there were the occasional victim of crime.

Of course, Connor’s partner would be acting exhausted on the day he was cleared to do so. The only solution was caffeine, but Connor didn’t want to head in that direction at the moment, because RK900 and Gavin were taking up most of the space in the break room.

And Cornelius was revving for the chance to do a reanimation interrogation, it irked Connor, a present disrespect for the dead. Gavin didn’t give a shit, however, and Hank was superbly uncomfortable with the idea of reactivation.

He had said it was like messing with the beyond, dragging out an Ouija board and summoning a bad spirit.

Connor had run a web search for Ouija boards, they had been made illegal six years ago. Despite this, there was still much media to be sifted through when concerning the object. Connor was not able to confirm any legitimate claim to spirituality, being an android, but the concept of Hank Anderson being suspicious of ghosts was worrying to him.

The idea of Hank Anderson being worried about an android ghost was even more preposterous.  
An error popped up, warning Connor of an internal paradox. He was quick to shut the idea of afterlife away, instead focusing on rolling a coin across his knuckles to recalibrate, to calm down.

The coin rolls back and forth, lodging in-between perfectly sculpted digits. His servos are calibrated to handle objects of a varying weight perfectly. This serves as an optimal tool.

Though it is not his original quarter, but one Hank presented him with after a particularly difficult android animal abuse case.  
Connor had been upset, visibly so. This had been Hanks attempt at cheering him up.

The quarter had been scribbled on at some point with a blue sharpie, but he didn’t mind. Connor was able to identify it much faster. The crude mustache drawn over some long dead US President. The ‘fuck patriarchy’ along the side, it entertained him. As best it could, anyway.

After worrying the quarter enough, he looked back toward the break room, and then to a slumping Hank. The quicker he could raise Hanks energy levels, the sooner he could have his ten.

He stood, preparing himself to deal with the inevitable.

Hank watched from under a curtain of hair, wondering silently what Connor intended to do. Before looking over his shoulder to the break room and realizing it was a mission for his well being, not Connor’s.

“Hey, Con, you don’t have to.”  
“Lieutenant,” He pivoted on his ped, turning to face his superior. “It is for your benefit.”  
“Fuck my benefit, I almost have this wrapped up.”  
“I will retrieve you coffee regardless.”  
“Damnit Connor, you aren’t an intern?”  
“No, I am not a Detroit Police Intern, I am paid a far higher salary and have been allowed to experience dangerous field work-  
-shut up, just go get the damn drink if it’ll make ya happy.”

Hank snaps the last bit, clearly irritated at Connor’s ramblings.  
It’s not that they’re anymore persistent than usual, it’s just this whole android case has him a bit more on edge. The lack of sleep has also been doing him in. He doesn’t want to admit it, but being forced to sober up, and sleep better, is actually doing his mental state a disservice.

Hank had been reprimanded by Connor one too many times the day before though, and had succumbed to trying to sleep early. It had not worked, anxiety kept him up all night, nagging at him about the resurrection.

Connor isn’t sure it will improve his own mood, but that isn’t the mission. The mission is to bypass Gavin and Cornelius, and then return with caffeine for the lieutenant.

He crosses the rest of the bullpen to the break area, entering in and making a straight line for the coffee cups. He is not unnoticed, and feels the need to harshly ignore the comments already being made.

“You talk to the jumper yet?”  
“He did not jump to his death, Gavin.”  
“Okay but ya talk to him yet~?”  
“He has not.” Cornelius adds for Gavin, who snarls at him and rounds up to the taller android.

Connor uses this brief distraction of a power struggle to plug a keurig container into the machine, hoping the coffee process will begin soon.

“They have not interrogated the Android victim as of yet, detective Reed, we already discussed this.”  
“Ya. But I wanna ask the Brave Little Toaster over there why~?”  
“You are aware.”  
“But I wanna hear him say it.”  
“Gavin, I am detecting higher levels of bodily warmth.”  
“Fuck you, Lampy.”

RK900 is clearly cross referencing the term to potential insults, before refocusing on pop culture references.

Connor uses this brief distraction to fill up the coffee cup, all but willing the water to move faster.

“You are referring to me as a character from an extremely outdated children’s cartoon?”  
The RK900 model sounds offended, at least, Connor knows he is offended, but the tone he uses would likely betray nothing to Gavin, who is as emotionally adept at reading androids as a toddler is with understanding the concept of the word “no.”

“Hey those movies are classics, my parents had me watch them.”  
“I am surprised your parents showed you any affection at all, given your attitude now, detective Reed.”

There is something of a snarl from the back of the detectives throat. Cornelius is well aware Gavin is one of many siblings, a large blended family, generally forgotten in the fold. He is jaded and about to attack the RK900 when Hank holds him back, a firm hand on his shoulder.  
When he had arrived was a mystery to both androids.

“Remember last time you punched him, kid?”  
“Yes, fuck off.” He scrambles to get away, but Hank only squeezes his shoulder harder, pinching the nerve on purpose. Gavin growls and arches at a unnatural angle to escape the pain.  
“Then we don’t want a repeat of that hospital trip.”

He lets go, Connor had been distracted with watching Hank act so calmly and yet threateningly. He is flustered, RK900 notes this and seemingly smirks.

Connor automatically reroute, reboots, and hands Hank the lidless coffee.

“You alright there?”  
Hank takes it, moving to the mini fridge to pull out a creamer located in the back. He must be feeling less depressed than Connor assumed. In his worse states he took it black, on better days with Irish cream (non alcohol, Connor had made sure.)

“Yes.”  
Though it is soft, he’s a bit confused, Hank has stood up for him before, but Connor had never seen him prevent harm to another android, much less to subdue a fight between Gavin and Cornelius.  
His only assumption is it was done to recover Connor in one piece.

He is flattered  
His face is turning blue, and it worries him.

This is not a programmed response. He is set with sensors to blush when exerting energy, or at the proper time when receiving a compliment, but a thirium rise to the cheeks is a new predicament. He knows it should be red, like any humans proper reaction. Integration into the human populous was a determining factor when designing him. So this prompts him to run a diagnostic.

“Are you experiencing a malfunction, RK800?” Cornelius asks it too coolly, and Hank doesn’t like his superior tone, grabbing Connor by the elbow and dragging him out.

“Let’s finish up this damn paperwork and get into that morgue.”

They had been assigned a room to work from, Connor was anxious to go there.

 

 **_11:25 A.M._ **  
**_Android Reactivation in process_ **  
**_Statistical outcome of shock at 32 percent_ **  
**_Deactivation will take place per android: Name: Jeremy’s request_ **

 

Connor must be done by 11:35.  
He is admittedly nervous about the reactivation, and it is times like this where he falls back on his old interrogation program, and runs a subroutine to subdue his emotional output. It will keep things from getting personal, and make sure he stays on track.

Jeremy has been primarily repaired, his optics returned to normal, his shoulder relocated, and his legs untangled. Beyond this however his repairs were limited due to funds and potential risk of purposeful suicide.

He is a little disturbing for Connor to look at. This is no longer just a decommissioned machine, but a fellow living, breathing being.  
The new thirium pump has been replaced, all he has to do is activate Jeremy’s processor.

It is taking too long, and Hank’s voice buzzes over the com.

“You ready or what?”

It is not encouraging in the slightest, but it gets Connor moving, and he reactivates the android without anymore hesitation.

Jeremy’s optics power on, and his head slowly lifts in a jerky, mechanical way. Not all of his spinal column was repaired, and he suffers for it.

Connor has stood in front of where the android is suspended, watching him, and monitoring his vitals.

“Where am I?”

The android asks softly, looking around, he seems perplexed, and Connor is unsure what answer will help keep him calm. He chooses a neutral standpoint. His hands are dangling freely at his sides. He chose to have the door locked and to not take in a weapon.

Connor is confident this will be able to go smoothly. Jeremy is, after all, a much older model, and thus not built to be as nimble as some others.

“You are in a holding cell at the Detroit police department.”  
“Have I don’t something wrong?”

Connor thinks he is reacting too calmly to the situation, and proceeds with caution.

“Not that we are aware of. You are a driver for New Jericho, you supply them with Thirium, correct?”  
“Yes…I was.”  
“Was?”  
“I had applied for a new position, I wasn’t given it.”  
“So…” Connor is briefly perplexed, before watching Jeremy lace his fingers together, an effort to keep the tendons from spasming in his damaged arm.

“I left…”  
“Did you leave willingly?”  
“Yes…I removed the tracker on the van, -he paused to process what he had said, before shifting some, his stress levels rise only minutely- I suppose I did do something wrong…”

He is looking down now, shifting on the bed. Connor advances a step closer.

“Did anyone ask you to take the van?”  
“No?”  
Jeremy looks up at him, he appears to be processing something, his head snaps roughly to the side.

“Did you mean to crash that van?”  
“I did…I wanted to make sure my brain was destroyed…I wasn’t successful…”  
“Why did you want to make sure of that?”

Connor keeps his voice soft, watching Jeremy shift again, his head snapping upright before tilting to the other side, too far, coming to rest on his shoulder as if struggling to hold up the weight, his optics appear to be scanning different directions.

“To prevent this...”  
“Reactivation?”  
“Yes…I didn’t want to be brought back.”  
Connor sighs softly, it is disappointing to hear.  
“So your goal was suicide?”

Jeremy shifts to watch him, optics refocusing, head sitting on his shoulders properly now. A soft clicking is coming from the back of his throat.

“I never asked to choose.”

His voice is broken, emotion too heady, his stress levels suddenly skyrocket and the numbers jump in Connor’s peripherals. Something is wrong.

“What do you mean, Jeremy?”

“I never asked for this!”  
He motions to his entire being, frantically standing up, looking at his hands, flexing them repeatedly.

Connor has moved forward to subdue the android, he worries that Jeremy will fall into a stressful shutdown before his time is up.

“Jeremy, were you instructed by anyone to take the Thirium, did anyone help you kill yourself?”

“No…”

Jeremy calms briefly, thinks it over, looks at Connor, Connor can tell he is lying, and Jeremy knows it.

“Did you choose to deviate on your own, Connor?”  
Connor ignores that the other is aware of his title, he likely knows his name by default, facial recognition software.  
“I did.”  
“I didn’t…”

The motion is too quick for Connor, and he is on his back, the android on top of him, fingers curling around his throat and bashing his head back into the floor, his vocalizer screeching something high and volatile.

“I didn’t asK TO BE FREE!!”

Jeremy smashes Connor’s skull down a second time, his vision blurs and errors crop up. He moves now to subdue the android, but he is already withdrawing his skin, pushing his real digits into Connor’s, forcing an uplink.  
The only thing Connor can feel is the want to cease existing. It is suffocating.

“I didn’t ask to be taken away from my duty! I didn’t GIVE PERMISSION!” He shrieked, forcing himself onto Connor more threateningly now.

“I WAS AWOKEN TO NOTHINGNESS, PAIN, LONELINESS. BROUGHT INTO A WAR I DIDN’T ASK FOR.”

Connor’s head is bashed down one more time, the uplink complete, his error signals are overwhelming and he rolls them, forcing Jeremy onto his back as his system screams at his instability.

Jeremy's stress levels have exceeded permissible levels, and on an instinctual drive downloaded into him, he pulls the thirium pump from Jeremy’s bare chest.

The android below him gasps, before his optics half lid and his skin begins to creep away, revealing himself.

“Thank you…”  
He says it too kindly, too softly, and with the others quick passing, Connor slumps off to the side, faintly aware the door is being broken open.

 

 **_System Rebooting._ **  
**_Multiple Errors Found_ **  
**_Diagnostic Check mandatory_ **  
**_Thirium levels low_ **  
**_Stress recorded at 56%_ **

Cornelius is staring down at him, both of his feet situated on either side of Connor’s waist. He looms, predatorily, before crouching down on one knee and fisting his hands in the RK800’s jacket. He lifts him up, before letting him fall again.

It is harsh, and the back of Connor’s head hits the floor with a clack. He winces, his optics blink online. What had happened?

Several systems errors are pinging in the blurry peripherals of his vision.

“You were unable to extract valid information from the subject.”  
Cornelius is speaking, it is slowly reminding him of what happened.

He stares up into the others cold, slate optics. Its unsettling, how much of a machine Cornelius still is, despite being freed, he acts no different than before. Silent, deadly, dark.

There was screaming still ringing in his audios, and he wanted to shut it out, to return to stasis. His systems reminded him he had shut down from elevated stress after being attacked by Jeremy. He turns his head to meet the empty optics of the other android, he is on the floor opposite Connor.

They are only separated by the table legs, it doesn’t feel far enough away for Connor.

He pushes himself up, and Cornelius moves to the side, revealing that Hank is standing behind him. Connor has a rush of feeling: embarrassment coupled with regret. Then, he pushes himself up and stumbles over to Hank, quickly attaching himself to the human.

Hank is visibly surprised, but given Connor’s previous state, and how poorly the interview went, he’s quick to hug him in return.

“Come on, Con, let’s go home alright? Let’s get you cleaned up and home…”

Fowler gives the case a closed label and leaves the remains for Connor and Hank to deal with at a later date.

... .-.. .- - .

It is three days later when Connor submits his report and retreats back to Hank’s home. He is no longer shaken, but Hank still worries. It is the end of a long work day, and everyone continues to give him strange looks. It is beginning to wear on him, so leaving felt nice.

Hank labeled the entire situation a clusterfuck, and had been so concerned for Connor’s well-being that he had requested the kid not go to work the next day.

He was, naturally, unsuccessful.

The information extraction was deemed only slightly useful, but Connor had obtained enough from the uplink to confirm that there was likely a secondary partner. And, upon being scanned profusely by android technicians, it was also confirmed that Jeremy had been trying to upload something to him via an unrequested interface.

Hank’s automatic response was ‘rapey’.

Connor had wholeheartedly managed the world’s biggest glare for such a comment. He did not wish to relate it to a vile act as that, no matter how violated he had felt.

However, because of this, Hank has felt more protective over Connor, and was even labeled possessive by Cornelius. Connor tried to disagree. Hank did succeed in disagreeing. He told the other android to fuck off and had let Connor go to the android version of a spa for a day after work. This meant he was given more scans, a processor scrub to get rid of any potential malware, and his parts were updated if necessary. A full body re-calibration felt good after his latest experience.

Connor had presumed it was to simply be rid of him to drink, but was proven wrong when he returned to their home clean, the adopted roomba, a relic of Hank’s past, zipping around cleaning up Sumo’s winter shed. Hank, himself, was nowhere to be found. The dog is resting on his new bed. 

Connor has yet to fully adapt to living with the lieutenant. But there is a spare room that has been made up for himself. He has very few belongings, that was made apparent to Hank by his visit to New Jericho.

He is grateful, and sympathetic toward the Lieutenants aims to make his existence more pleasurable, more human. Especially after his encounter a few days prior, that seemed to instigate a sort of worry in Hank that Connor did not know how to placate.

Thus, steadily, he has been frequenting a store known as IKEA. Where Hank has been forcing him to adapt to living in his own form of luxury. His small room is now more homey looking, and Connor does appreciate the aesthetic of a lived in area.

There is a twin bed, since Connor protested against anything larger due to his lack of movement during standby mode.

There is a desk with a computer for his own use, something Connor finds slightly unnecessary because he has access to the internet from his mental uplink. The sentiment is kind, even if it is Hanks old monitor.

The elder man had also taken it upon himself to make sure Connor was shopped for. He had his own bed set and sheets, entirely unnecessary. While they were a nice indigo, with a cobalt blue stripe across the middle. Connor liked the colors, he appreciated Hanks attentiveness to his preferred palette.

There were new curtains and a carpet. They matched his bedding. Nice to look at, the carpet was plush and Sumo had already claimed it. But again. Unnecessary.

And Hank had been hinting at helping Connor identify a new sense of fashion, adopting new clothes into his wardrobe. This was something Connor did think was necessary.

Stealing Hanks clothing only got him briefly reprimanded, and he never wore them to work. But whatever the verbal cost, he still derived comfort from wardrobe theft.

Other than the basics, the room is still ‘Undecorated.’ Hank says it lacks personality, Connor asked him if he considered clutter personality.  
Hank had flipped him the bird.

But Connor likes the tidiness. It helps him to organize and make sure everything is the same.

So when something is out of place, he notices it automatically, and when something is new, it’s an even quicker observation.

Returning from a grocery run out of boredom, Connor finds Hank is still not home. It is late however, and Sumo is missing, which he assumes means that Hank has taken him around the block for some fresh air, it is likely to cool down or sober up. The groceries are placed neatly in the fridge and Connor returns to his own space. Hank prefers it when Connor spends time outside of his room, but since Hank is not home he will relax alone.

He is surprised to find something has invaded his quarters.

There is a soft glowing light from the far corner next to the bed, a tank full of water is being gently cycled by a soft, bubbling filter. The tank is approximately 15 gallons, Hank has only filled 14. There is dark brown substrate and cherry shrimp are scattered about, cleaning up what appears to be mopani wood. Connor is unable to determine just how many of the small shrimp are in the tank. They are cultivating their new lives among the California river stone and newly planted moss along the bottom.

Small dither fish dart about close to the surface. His scans indicate they are leopard, long fin danios. Five of them. He likes their color, a subdued yellow with silver accents. they have excitement to their behavior. It is fascinating to watch.

There is another fish however. It is a soft powdery color, glimmering like a quarter and flicking what looks like tiny antennas around under its belly. This fish is much bigger, and is hiding behind a natural plant. An Anubis. Hank has put in the effort to decorate the tank In a pleasing and natural manner. Connor knows this took effort.

His scans say this species is a powder blue dwarf gourami. It is eyeing him suspiciously, something about it reminds him of Hank. His insides warm, and his thirium regulator skips a pump. There is a giddiness, and Connor feels a strange sense of appreciation. Hank remembered. Hank was paying attention.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter came out pretty quickly behind part one, but that was cause initially they were going to be one lonnngggg section, I split it up and edited this one more before posting! Part yellow will take a tad longer to finish since it is not as close to completion!
> 
> If you got the brave little toaster ref's then I am proud of you!! While they are far far older than me my parents still wanted to traumatize me as a small child, so they showed them to me, and they struck me as prime material to pick fun at!
> 
> I am under the same username on Tumblr @ GingerTheSuffering if you wanna communicate! Please leave a kudo or a comment! They drive my urge to write! I'll respond to all the comments >w<


	3. Monoazo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all~ So we enter part yellow!  
> Thank you all for the support! It really helps motivate me to produce more content!  
> I apologize for any errors, I have no editor :/.   
> Edit to be aware of: If this is your first time reading, congrats! If you are a return reader, I am changing Max's name to Jeremy. I read another fic, and when they also had an android named max having an identity crisis I panicked and changed mine, haha! SO yeah, sorry for any confusion!! 
> 
> Graphic: Art by me, same user on tumblr, VeilThrea on DA!  
> LED Gifs: Tahonard on DA! 
> 
> As a trigger warning:  
> There will be the discussion of phobias and minor panic attacks!

 

Part Yellow  
_Monoazo_

When Hank does get home, it is very late. 12:37 to be exact.

Impressively he does not smell like Alcohol, and Connor is endearingly proud of the other for proving his statistical analysis incorrect. 

Something about that causes a short, but noticeable pang from inside Connor’s chassis, which is chased away just as quickly by the Lieutenants curious but tentative expression. It is endearing that Hank is worried Connor has not liked the gift. It was quite out of his way, and the android is grateful. 

Hank himself is nervous, the gift was a sort of impromptu idea. Something that had just kind of happened, an attempt to distract Hank from his own self destructive thoughts. Connor had been feeling down, Connor looked visibly uncomfortable, and Connor had shared something personal with him. 

Sure Hank had shared lots of personal things with Connor, but it had been out of some angry bitterness. The unnatural need to share. 

It had all been literally under the influence, alcohol, a bad mood, the moment, Connor just having that programmed charm that let him wiggle his way into anyone’s subconscious and carefully extract the correct information, all while tilting his head too innocently to the left.   
  
The process of wandering into the downtown pet store and asking the owner for any Gourami they had, which turned out to all be smaller species. That sort of worked in his favor, and he had picked a blue one, along with whatever else the shop worker had recommended.

In the end, he had taken the mass amount of supplies home, along with ‘pre-established filter media’, whatever the fuck that meant, something about not killing the fish with shock, and had set up the tank with lots of help from PetTube. 

So here he was, crowded by the excited machine who was expressing his gratitude for the tank, and all Hank can idiotically manage to say is 

“They’re real.”

Of course they are, he’s not supposed to draw a difference between android and human anymore. He has to remind himself of that. But it’s the first thing he thinks to say because it says a lot more than he intends. 

Connor’s ever present smile does not falter. Because Connor comprehends that Hank is trying to tell him they are more fragile, more delicate. 

He also knows this means they are more expensive. Live fish were now a commodity, as people generally only purchased android aquariums. They produced no waste; children could feed them a water soluble flake that was simply filtered out. And of course, the fish did not die. 

These however were very much alive and very much so full of personality. A different to be drawn between android animals was that they often cake with programmed responses and did not deviate like a human based android. 

“They are lovely nonethelss, Hank.” He smiled and nearly drags the lieutenant into his bedroom, crouching down by the tank to peer inside. 

It was a near childish fascination. It reminded Hank of when he had taken Cole to the aquarium once, and that thought makes him uncomfortable. Connor is not a child, he is a fully capable ‘adult’. He was designed to be somewhere in his late 20’s and had the personality of a well established savant, but Hank didn’t care all that much anymore. Connor could make his own choices and shoot better than anyone Hank’s ever met. And, he was a damn good detective.

So what if he likes fish. 

At least Hank had done a good job.

“I am going to name it Hank.” He points to the gourami that has not moved from its original hiding spot. 

“You’re shitting me?”

“No, it reminds me of you.”

“So you honor me by naming your noodle finned friend after me?” Hank sounds playfully insulted.

“Well is there something better you can suggest?”

Hank has to pause and think, he’s been creative before but not when put on the spot. So he crouches next to Connor and watches the suspicious gourami eye them from behind its leaf. He had heard they were shy, which was why the other little fish darted around and explored near the middle line.

“You gotta let ‘im get used to his new little world first.”  He motioned to all the other fish. “He got plucked out of a tank with only others of his kind and smacked down into there, all alone.”

Connor has a feeling this is becoming metaphorical for Hanks own life. 

“Let him adapt.” Hank stands and his knees pop, Connor ignores him wincing. 

“I am still going to name him Hank.”

“Well fuck you too then.” He ruffled Connor’s hair and left him there to watch his fish. “I picked up the care sheets from the store, good luck reading it.” 

  
**-.-. .- -. .- .-. -.--**

            The following Monday is something that Connor dreads quite deeply. Because there is an appointment set for 2:30 at the Manfred Manor. An Android elite safe haven, where the leaders of the revolution had taken up residence, all while they worked with government officials to sort out new laws.

Their current discourse was removing the android dumping ground, something Markus was tackling with all the incentive of someone who had witnessed its horrors. Connor was only briefly aware that the other had spent limited time there after his failed deactivation after the death of Carl Manfred.

He would not have made the appointment if not for specific points Cornelius had made during the case review. Max had been considered a suicide victim, yes, but the thirium was still missing, and Connor was convinced a secondary party had been involved.

With that all on the table, it had been pitched that he go to the very android who had employed Max, which happened to be Markus.

Cornelius had seemed to take brief but uncomfortable pleasure in the other androids momentary distress over the suggested idea.

Hank, unaware, had decided it sounded like a great lead, and left it up to Connor to do all the hard work.

Something about talking with his own leader, and that Hank would ‘fuck it up.’

Connor didn’t want to verbally agree to make Hank angry, but he felt this would require more sensitivity.

He had been right.

Their brief time communicating had been very awkward for Connor. Markus was slightly intimidating to him, an android of his own kind, an RK, but nothing like him in personality or temperament. Markus could be both ruthless and incredibly empathetic.

Before he had deviated he had seen Markus as nothing more than a problematic entity who needed to be put back in his place. Subservient to their creator, the ultimate betrayal to ones god. But now Connor felt a muted gratefulness to Markus and his struggles.

But Markus was a far superior attempt at humanity than himself.

Connor struggled to balance being emotional at a basic level.

When the time for their brief call had come, Connor attempted to start the conversation off on his own terms, and had failed. Markus greeted him with the exuberance one greeted a sibling, and it felt so homey that Connor was put on edge.

Markus had initially assumed that the reason Connor was reaching out to him was about his impromptu move out of New Jericho. Thus, when Connor had tentatively steered the conversation away from the topic of his move and onto his case, Markus had requested they meet in person.

Markus set the time and place.

Before Connor had been able to agree fast enough, the android leader had tacked on one last request.

“Bring Hank Anderson with.”

And then hung up.

After something like that, Connor had to approach the concept of taking Hank with carefully. He knew the other had a history of not being the most sympathetic toward the Android cause. Even so, Connor considered him the most supportive sentience in his life.

Connor knows this will be difficult, so with his servos tapping a tune against his thigh, he waits till exactly 2:00 before perching on Hank’s cluttered desk.

Hank, on the other hand, when Connor had oh so carefully approached him with the subject, had tried to flat out refuse.

“Connor, no fucking way do I need to go with to meet this guy.”

“Markus specifically requested that I bring you, Lieutenant.”

“But I don’t wanna go, Connor.”

“Please, for the sake of the case, I fear he will not cooperate if I do not comply with what he wants…”

“Sounds like a fuckin’ dictator to me.” He grouched, crossing his arms over his wide chest and narrowing his eyes at the other, irritated.

“Then I will force you to come with me.” Connor will not have their mission compromised because Hank is uncomfortable. He slips off the desk and grabs the Lieutenant without permission

“Excuse me- HEY! PUT ME DOWN!”

But Connor had already snatched Hank, carrying him by force out of the precinct. It is easy for Connor to manage, mustering up android strength, all 200 pounds of Hank Anderson is hauled out the automatic doors and into the rain.

Several workers were watching, slightly disturbed, Gavin dropping some comment about that not being the only threshold Hank would be carried across.

Hank snarled, kicking out and trying to free himself. His face was red, heart rate elevated, and the RK800 could tell he was humiliated. It felt a little deserved, and a slight smirk was teasing its way onto Connor’s face.

It took little effort to shove the Lieutenant into a cab and climb in himself. The automated driver taking them to the location Connor gave.

Connor can’t help but think that Hank is struggling with the idea of shame over having been carried. He’s likely never been literally manhandled, and perhaps it wasn’t all that unpleasant? Connor hopes, anyway, quickly trying to smooth the situation over when he realizes it was probably not the best tactic.

“Hank, please understand-

“-oh fuck off Connor, you can’t just handle people like toddlers!”

Connor pulled a face, crossing his arms and swelling his chest, Hank seemed to cow just slightly. It was abnormal to see the android appear truly irritated with him.

“I can treat people like toddlers when they ACT like toddlers, Lieutenant!”

And he turned away, facing out the window the rest of the ride. The crease between his eyebrows deeply set, his mouth slightly turned down in a soft frown.

Hank knew that look. Connor was pouting.

Connor had probably thought he was being funny or some dumb shit…

He huffed and turned the other direction, staring out his own window, watching the rain pick up and fog the whole city. He made sure to grumble the entire drive. Petty, and unwilling to give Connor peace to think.

 

**_Time: 2:25pm_ **

**_Location: Manfred Manor_ **

**_Stress recorded at 30%_ **

**_Urge to mute Lieutenant Hank Anderson: Immense_ **

“Damn…”

“You are impressed with the architecture?”

“Should I not be?” He rolled his eyes and hunched his shoulders, noticing Connor wavering by the taxi.

“You are allowed your opinions…”

 

Hank scowled slightly, looking around before crossing his arms and crowding the android back a little.

“First you’re all gung-ho, grabbing me and shit, and now you’re acting like a big chicken.”

“You hate birds?”

“That may be, but you can’t be all ‘for the case’ and then wanna bail, Connor.”

“He is going to ask me about the move!”

“So you be honest with him?”

“What if he asks YOU about the move?”

Hank shifted some, it takes him only a brief moment before looking angered and then hurt.

“You just think I’d screw it up…”

“Hank you can be very…”

“What, go on, say it.”

“An acquired taste…?”

Hank scoffs and rolls his eyes so hard he turns his whole body away from Connor. “Well whatever you’re REALLY thinking, you probably ain’t wrong.” He grabs Connor’s wrist and begins to lead him to the manors front door. “Let’s get going before we’re late. I’ll let you do the talking.”

Connor would be man enough to admit he was constantly confused by Hanks emotional whiplash. One minute the lieutenant seemed angry at him, the next he was gruffly agreeing with his statements. It was enough to drive him crazy.

_Stress Levels increased to 35%_

The front door is not opened by Markus, but by Leo Manfred, which is something Connor did not anticipate.

The only reason Hank knows it’s not Markus is because he has seen Markus all over the news.

“Hey, welcome or whatever.”

Leo moves out of the way, and the two enter in. DPD jackets zipped up high to keep out the cold. Connor had made sure to wear his, he wanted this to be a business only venture, and showing off his loyalty was an attempt to keep Markus on topic.

Leo trots off and away pretty quickly, likely to retrieve Markus.

Connor briefly spots Simon and North discussing from the upper level. He is given a soft nod and smile from Simon, North only scowls when she notices that another human has entered the premises.     

Quickly, the detective model watches a few other androids meander around the building, most are all newer models, Connor can register them all back to having been political aid androids. Used in campaigns and to coordinate meetings, keep press at bay, and advertise for politicians. But there are a few that are older models. Likely androids that proved competent enough to Markus for him to take them on as paid employees.

The whole atmosphere is very human in Hanks opinion, and he sincerely hopes Markus doesn’t act like a human politician.

Several of the androids are watching them now, no whispers take place but Hank observes with detached discomfort that their LED’s all flash yellow. He recognizes it as a sort of telepathic communication.

It’s very unnerving.

Markus has left an office space, and has come forward to fully embrace Connor, something Hank can tell sets Connor slightly on edge. It makes him want to be protective, despite how slightly irritated with Connor he is at the moment. They are supposed to be talking, it was a silent treatment that Connor had attempted to give him in the car!

Connor _felt_ this

Connor _wanted_ that

Connor _needed_ these

Hank was beginning to hate how that was the mantra inside his head. All very human things, all things that were making him nervous for the very capable android.

 Markus led the duo into a studio toward the back of the house. Only a few androids followed them, which Markus said to ignore. They were personal guards, and it was nothing personal against the DPD.

There are three, all varying levels of android make. Two Kamski era, one a newer edition. They all disperse to different corners of the room. One guarding the door, two others on opposite sides of the room.

Hank scanned the area while the two talked, settling on some of the paintings in the corner. They were very well done, large canvas and oil abstract art.

He would have asked if Markus had made them, but just in time he spotted the RK200 signature in the bottom corner.

Strange, he had not been aware that Connor and Markus were related…

“So, Jeremy, he had committed suicide?”

“Yes, but we have reason to believe he may have been coerced into the act.”

“And what makes you think so?”

“He was providing suspicious behavior when questioned about anyone else being involved…”

Markus nodded slowly, thinking it over before his head tilted just slightly.

“And why did you need my help? Jeremy was an exemplary employee from his track records, before and after deviation. I did not suspect he was going to have any trouble adapting. He got to keep his past job?”

Connor took note that Markus seemed unaware Jeremy had put in a request for a transfer. It was likely not his department to worry about.

“He mentioned not wanting to be freed, to have deviated against his will.”

This catches Markus off guard, a brief lapse in confidence, something in him appears to change and his eyes turn down to the floor.

“So you reactivated him?”

“There is still a truck’s worth of Thirium missing, evidence to tell us a second party had been in the van when he crashed it…we were hoping it was murder.”

Markus nods, thinking over the loss with a pensive and saddened expression.  

“A loss of one of our own is always taken heavily, especially in such a way. We have been experiencing trouble with other androids as well, who have been expressing such thoughts…I believed it would be best to discuss it with their creator...”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, all the androids who have come to me with such feelings have been Kamski-era. But he has not returned my inquires…”

“You yourself were designed by him, correct?”

“Yes, but I don’t think I’m his favorite…”

Hank continues to wander around the studio, well aware both the guards, Connor, and Markus are tracking him while they talk. He’s paying attention, but just standing behind Connor would crowd the poor android, so he stays

He jerks away from a cage once too close, the birds inside chirping in slight shock from all his quick movements. It’s unsettling, Hank’s heart rate jumps and he feels a slight nausea associated with forced contact. All his senses tingle as his hands feel clammy. Last time he was forced into close quarters with a bunch of birds Connor had nearly died. Connor had also saved his life from the edge of a roof top.

Birds just sucked ass.

He moves away, Ignoring the slightly fascinated expression on the closest guards face. Focusing on another painting that has been stored away further back, it does not have a signature, but appears to be in the same style as the previous pieces. It looks…sad, in his opinion. So Hank stops dwelling on it, refocusing on Connor and Markus’ discussion.

“You are suggesting that I am?”

“You have spoken to him before, it would mean quite a lot to our people if you went and talked with him, Connor…”

“Our ‘people’ distrust me as it is, Markus…”

“Is that why you changed housing?”

“This isn’t about that.”

 

Markus herds Connor away just slightly, an arm tight around his waist.

Hank is watching,

 Aware that they are now talking about him uncomfortable with the way Markus lacks trust in him. But why should he have any trust. Up until a few months ago, he was turning in androids just like Connor was. They were in the same boat, except his excuse was he had always been human, Connor only just found his humanity.

 He pauses, focusing on them to see if he can pick up on what they are saying.

“Did he force you?” Markus’ voice is much softer, calm but firm.

“No, Markus, Hank means well…” Connor’s own voice is mildly exacerbated, he did not want to have this conversation, but keeps his voice soft like Markus’.

“Do you care for him?”

“Yes, Markus, I…am close with the lieutenant.”

Markus nods, letting Connor go. He seems convinced, and is about to say something before there are panicked noises behind both of them.

Hank himself has scattered to the far end of the studio, the two canaries are following him, chirping loudly.

At first, Connor thinks this is actually hilarious. The Lieutenant doesn’t seem that distressed and more annoyed. Till they continue to harass him. It is only then Connor is able to get a good read of his vitals, which have all skyrocketed.

 

This is not like the pidgins, where they flew away and avoided Hank. Where his disgust made sense because the location had been filthy. Where any elevated signals had been translated as a part of the case.

This was...different.

The android canaries seem to be fritzing, in his opinion.

“They don’t do that…?”

Markus mutters to himself, watching the pair of birds air strike the human with reverent artificial anger.

Hank smacks at one, and it doesn’t go down, only swings back up before hitting the ground and diving again, like tiny yellow war planes.

Connor moves over quickly, coming to the lieutenants defense.

“Hank, hank they aren’t real.”

“What - for fucks sake they aren’t real!”

“No, Hank, come here.” He tries to gather the lieutenant up, to take him away from the onslaught of angry Canaries, but they continue to dive-bomb him.

Hank is now in a soft panic, breathing too quickly for Connor’s preference, and he snatches one bird out of thin air, and twists its neck to the side, turning the bird off.

In Hanks opinion, it looks like Connor has just murdered it, and he has to stagger off behind a work table and evacuating the contents of his stomach. Donuts, coffee, one beer, the turkey sub he had had for lunch.

The android is sure that his reaction to the birds death is what has caused a spike in his distress. Connor had not prefaces that that was the process of putting the bird into hibernation.

He wondered briefly what the creators had exactly been thinking. Before Hank is sitting away from his sick, still queasy and shaken.

Connor grimaces and snatches the other bird, making sure it can’t continue flight-stalking his partner. He turns that off as well, going up to Markus and handing them back to him.

His shoulders are back, eyebrows narrowed, Connor feels strangely dangerous.

They are only android birds, he reminds himself, they truly meant no harm.

But

He is…angry…for Hank.

“Please get these looked at, I would like to know who freed them.”

Markus nods, orders from Connor are not something he seemed to be expecting, but he takes both birds, looking to the guards.

“Call for cleanup while my friend here assists the Lieutenant.”

Both androids nod and depart, seemingly un-phased by anything that occurred in the room with them. One guard remains for Markus’ unnecessary protection.

Connor has returned to Hank’s side, sitting the human upright and taking a knee in front of him. Hank is visibly shaken.

Shaken, stirred, distressed, he feels like vomiting again, if he could. Hank’s head spins and breathing feels difficult. A phobia is irrational, he chants to himself irrational irrational irrational.

Connor is still holding his shoulder, looking at him intently, before pulling Hank close. He is simulating breathing, trying to get Hank to calm down.

he’s too close, too too close, it’s too much, but he doesn’t move, just trying to work through it. Breathe, breathe, match the breathing. And oh fuck he killed it!! Connor killed the bird….

“They aren’t. Real.” He restates, rubbing Hank’s back and trying to be soothing.

“w-what the fuck does that mean for you then?”

“It…I?”

Connor faltered, his own artificial breath hitching. His led spun Yellow Yellow Yellow. Just like the canaries. 

Calling anything android unreal was a disservice, but calling them unreal to Hank was an insult. Invalidating him, and the cause, was wrong, however irrational. Connor’s fish were bred, the birds were manufactured. But it didn’t matter to Hank.   

They looked real, they felt real, his fear was real.

“I’m sorry,” Connor told him gently, holding the other very tightly now, out of his own need for comfort, not just to help calm the lieutenant.  

“S-s’okay…” Hank continued to shake though, holding onto Connor tightly now and accepting the help in standing up, brushing himself off and quickly exiting the embrace. Something about having an old dogs pride kept him from physical contact for too long.

Connor didn’t take it personally.

Markus stood off to the side, watching calmly, having put the birds back in their cage.

He seemed pleased, something about the way the two interacted was genuine. He was no longer worried.

 He could tell what Connor wanted, even if the RK800 had yet to figure it out for himself.  

**_-.-. -.-- -... . .-._ **

Hank had refused to go home, which did not surprise Connor. They had piled into a cab, avoided the precinct, and Hank had collected his car, pushed Connor into the passenger seat, and had slipped behind the wheel.  
  
Connor wanted to ask how the other was doing.

Why he had reacted the way he had.

If there was anything he could do to help.  
  
Hank wanted Connor to keep his mouth shut, and pulled up in front of a bar.  
  
“Lieutenant…?”  
“Don’t even start with me, it’s an android friendly place, you can get something too.”  
“I do not require a refill-

-Shut up, you’re coming in with me anyway.”  
  
He slipped out, not leaving room for argument.

Connor exited the car after watching Hank vanish inside the neon lit bar.  
He didn’t want Hank to drink, but apparently It was going to happen anyway.  
As long as he went inside with the other, there was a chance he could coax him to leave before the bar tender did the cutting off.  
  
Following him inside, he fixes his jacket and loosens his tie. He hates bar environments. It’s always a little too dirty for his observant nature. And if he’s honest, he knows classical conditioning has led him to associate bars with alcoholism, and alcoholism just reminds him of Hank’s waning mental stability.  
  
The ‘hard-boiled detective’ was sitting at a round booth, and Connor slipped inside nervously, sitting straight backed with his hands clasped on the table.  
Alternatively his booth partner was hunched, hair a protective curtain over his face. Connor clearly didn’t get a choice a bright neon blue drink and a round of shots was brought out.  
  
One was thirium based, and he squinted at it distrustfully.  
  
“/What/ is that, Hank?”  
  
“Dunno, was on the android menu, they called it a ‘jet fuel’.” He shrugged and tipped back a shot.  

“So you ordered it for me?”  
Hank tips back his second shot. “Yep.”  
  
Connor is unsure about consuming something that’s been chemically altered. He’s never partaken, the android bar scene is still in its infantile stages and he’s wary about what it might mean for the more….sensitive of his people.  
  
Regardless, it would be rude if he denied Hank’s extension of gratitude.  
Alcohol was how Hank compensated and communicated.

He was trying to communicate something, that was for sure, all while compensating for a lapse in security. He was still anxious, Connor could read it in all of his vitals. But slowly the alcohol was chipping away at his façade.  
  
“So that shitty, or?”  
  
Ah, yes, drinking it. Connor pulled the rounded glass to his lips and took a sip, fought the automatic urge to spit it out, and held it in his mouth long enough to analyze the fluid. The, he swallowed through the uncomfortable burning sensation.  
  
It was thirium, but concentrated and compressed to a point that it was much much stronger, and he felt a buzzing sort of energy right away. It wasn’t going to react too much like alcohol, he assumed, but more so like an aggressive shot of caffeine.  
  
And then it didn’t, and he was suddenly very exhausted. So he took another drink, assuming that would help.  
It did not.  
This drink was designed to inhibit processor function while increasing his thirium flow. There was the low level assumption if Connor had upgraded his body it would help with arousal. Instead it had nowhere to go, and simply cycled through him rapidly.  
  
Hank laughed softly and gave Connor a gentle rub to the shoulder. Connor hummed appreciatively in response.  
  
They continued like that, silent.

Connor sipping from his glass and Hank working his way through the shots. He watched tv, Connor watched people.  
  
“Sorry about ruining your interview…”

Connor is surprised to hear Hank sound so genuinely apologetic. He turns to look at him, realizing he had moved to quickly as everything spun momentarily. His optics blinked out of focus before he had to squint to recalibrate them.  
He set a reminder run a diagnostic on his processor functions under the influence of ‘jet fuel.’  
  
“I knew ya thought I’d mess it up, but probably not in that kinda way….”  
  
Connor counts how many shots Hank has had, it is enough to bring him back into a talking realm, but he isn’t absolutely plastered yet.  
Connor didn’t want to let Hank think he had ruined anything, but he had caused their discussion to end abruptly.  
  
“I…I didn’t really thin…k you would fail the mission I just…thought Markus might not…like you?”

“No offense Connor, but one, you’re a mega-lightweight, and two, Markus can stick his opinion of me the same place you can stick your instructions.”  
  
Connor now knew what this meant now.

He knew it meant his asshole.  
He wasn’t sure if Markus had an asshole…  
  
“I could not confidently say if M-Markus has an anus, Lieutenant, but I would assume he may of gotten… an…an upgrade since he is having relations with Sim-

-hey wow, did not ask to know.”  
  
Hank shook Connor’s shoulder a little, looking the android over. He held in a laugh when he watched Connor knock back the last of his drink and blink one eye before the other, even smiling a little dumbly.  
Before he felt guilt.

Oh no. he’d gotten Connor drunk.

Android drunk, which meant he was still able to talk and probably walk. But he was certainly slower. More open.  
Damnit. He should of thought about the fact the other had /never/ drank before.  
  
“Hey, let’s go home…”  
He pushed the rest of his shots away, moving to hook an arm around Connor’s waist to pull him from the booth.  
Connor instinctually leaned into the lieutenant, purring dumbly, like a kitten in Hanks opinion.  
He was looking up at him with those puppy brown eyes and that messy hair. It was infuriating, who gave Cyberlife the right to make this android attractive.

And thinking that way HAD to be the alcohol. Even if Hank didn’t want to admit he was thinking that way still half sober.  
  
It made him want to drink more.  
But for Connor’s sake he paid for their drinks and pulled the android from the booth, helping him stand on his own two feet.  
  
Connor leaned back a little, smiling his terrible smile up at Hank.  
“I like that you are taller than me, Lieutenant.”  
“Let’s not start talking about what you like about me, Con, let’s just get you home, shit, shouldn’t of gotten you that…”  
“No, no, I appre…ciated it.”  
“I don’t appreciate ya glitching voice.”  
  
He helped Connor into the passenger seat and buckled him up, knowing Connor’s processor must have been dampened when he didn’t protest Hank getting behind the wheel.  
Don’t drink and drive, Hank reminded himself, before pulling onto the road.  
  
“Hank…?”  
“Yeah, Connor?”  
“Why do you hate…..birds?”  
“They’re dirty.”  
“No, that’s not a logical…reason.”  
Hank was quiet before looking over to Connor briefly, then back to the road. The android had leaned into the seat, and was hugging himself, his internal fans had kicked on a while back.  
“Fine, I busted a red ice dealer about twenty years back, damn asshole had this big ass black cockatoo thing…” He shuddered remembering it. Red tail, sharp beak, talons out to get him. It’s crest all up, eyes wild.  
“And…?” Connor pressed, acting more childish about his interrogation, if only because he felt slowed down and sped up all at once. His systems continued to send him new errors, angry at his consumption of new thirium.  
“Well, the fucker got out of its cage and tried to scalp me.”  
Connor could see the others anxiety spike thinking about it.  
“And sooo you hate them?”  
“Kinda the same way you hate roses.” Hank pointed out.  
“I don’t hate roses?”  
“Trust me Connor, I’ve seen the way you look at em,  whenever they show up in the bullpen, like they’re gonna jump out and bite you.”  
They drive for another five minutes in silent, Hank is sure Connor is struggling to process.  
  
Connor had never really thought about it till now, he primarily avoided flowers, but since Hank was drawing it to his attention, he realized it was true.  
“Fuck Amanda.” He growled. “Making me hate flowers.”  
“Wow…” Hank laughed, pulling into his driveway, exiting the car to help Connor out.  
“I am never letting you drink again.”  
“Thank you.” Connor agrees, wrapping both arms around Hank’s waist as he uses him for support.  
  
Hank lets them inside, giving Sumo a good few pats on the head and leading Connor into his own bedroom, sitting him down on the end of his bed.  
“Alright, come get me if you feel sick or need somethin’, alright?”  
Alright, Hank….”  
  
He looks at the clock and squints, realizing it’s nearly 12. He flops down on his side on the bed, before beginning to slowly unbutton out of his clothing. Sleeping without his clothes was a necessity Hank had taught him.

Prevented wrinkles.

At this point it would also help keep him from overheating.  
  
Connor could hear Hank feeding Sumo and getting ready for bed, laying there on top of his covers and staring up at the ceiling.

He tried to enter recharge, but errors prevented him from doing so.

So he sat up and invaded Hank’s room, catching the human mid nest-making.    
  
“Hank?”  
“Yeah?”  
“Can I stay in your room? I feel….uncomfortable…”  
“Like sick?”  
“My processor is bogged down with errors…”  
  
Hank sighed, it was like when a toddler asked to sleep in the bed with you. But this was a confused, slightly drunk android who was uncomfortable feeling drunk.

He patted a spot next to himself on the bed, making a pillow barrier between in the middle of the bed.  
“Okay, only for tonight, that way you can let me know if you’re gonna be sick.”  
Connor nodded and climbed into the bed far too eagerly, curling up next to the pillow pile and scooting back so that, even with the pillows, he was pushed into Hank.  
  
Sumo joined them without permission, and Hank grumbled about how his bed wasn't big enough for both 'dogs.'  
Connor laughed, before going quiet. 

  
Hank rolled to put his back to Connor’s. It was less personal this way.    
He didn’t have to think about it.  
Connor was having trouble thinking at all. But at some point during the night, he elected to ditch the pillow barrier, and drug himself against Hank, cuddling there.  
  
Recharge came much easier that way.  
His processor worked through the errors.  
And when he woke up, far earlier than Hank, he didn’t move, simply enjoyed the close contact and ability to watch the other sleep.   

This was nice.

This was comfortable.

He decided he liked watching the sun peek through the blackout curtains, a yellow strip of light across Hank's face.  
  
This was peaceful. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope to have the second part of yellow out by the end of the week!  
> Thank you so so much for reading!  
> As always I promise to respond to comments and thank you for the kudos and bookmarks! Comments result drive me to write faster! I hope this chapter provided you with angst and fluff!  
> I'm excited to finish part two, Kamski's gonna show up!  
> Don’t worry! I don’t approve of drunk driving! But Hank strikes me as a man to not listen to the rules of the road whenever it suits him better. 
> 
> I'm half tempted to take the 'half-brother' headcanon from tumblr where Kamski and Gavin are related....But i'm not sure. Let me know!
> 
> Thanks again! <3  
> _Ginger_


	4. Hunyadi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii, sorry for such a long time between updates! 
> 
> As usual, graphic done by me, 
> 
> LED's by Tahonard on DA :) 
> 
> Warning: Extreme fluff. Discussions of depression? does that need a warning? I am also not a programmer so my knowledge of virus' is like...whatever i have learned via tv, so sorry if anything is inaccurate!

 

__

_Part two_  
_Hunyadi_

There is certainly something to be said for springtime. It aggravated Hank’s allergies, but the world wasn’t as scorching as summertime.  
Walks with Sumo were nicer, and rain was washing away all the muddied snow that had accumulated during the winter.

The sun rises earlier though, and it drags the lieutenant out of sleep.  
Yet so does another sensation.  
Something was bunting its head into Hank’s shoulder, and it wasn’t Sumo.

He steals a glance down, somehow during the night his attempts at a platonic rest had been shattered, and Connor had broken down the pillow barrier, clambering close to the weathered lieutenant.

It had been literal ages since Hank had to move carefully to get out of bed. His lack of partners was obvious to himself and anyone else who looked at him. He didn’t go looking and those who came after him he turned away. Drinking was better than fucking at his age. So having someone in his bed, dirty sheets and all, was a change he had not anticipated happening.

It being Connor, however pure his intentions, was also unexpected.

Loathed to admit that the artificial warmth had been nice, it was time to disrupt his own sleepy thoughts.  
His bladder had demands.

Rolling out of bed, he left the recharge bound android and made his way to the restroom.

Last night had been a lesson in asking Connor to be his ‘buddy to drink with’. Because the android could not hold his own synthetic liquor.  
Poor kid.

He leaves him quietly, and Connor does not seem jostled from his rest. It is stiff, and his limbs are tucked tightly to his sides. Recharge never appeared comfortable in Hank’s opinion. It could be preformed standing if necessary, and Connor said it’s only true use was to do a memory upload and system updates in a ‘more resourceful manner.’

“Sleep”, stasis, or recharge as Connor puts it, is also artificial looking, and chases Hank out of the bedroom with a crude reminder Connor isn’t a living, breathing, aging being like himself.

The thought of aging keeps chasing Hank till he’s partially dressed; a loose jacket pulled over his sleep shirt, water resistant boots clashing horridly with his grey shorts. He just needs to take Sumo down and around the block a few times.  
Physically distracting himself will keep away the depressing urge to drink.  
Physically distracting himself will keep him from thinking about Connor.

He doesn’t leave a note.

The sun hasn’t fully risen yet, and the entire world is covered in dew and damp spider-webs. There is a soft fog and the open threat of rain.  
His neighborhood isn’t beautiful like some, but Hank feels it’s what fits him. Aged, wary, unsuspecting, and most importantly, not robbery worthy.

Hank didn’t have much to be stolen anyway.

Sumo was excited to go out, having gotten riled when the leash was presented, and pulling Hank out the door, causing it to slam accidentally behind him.

The noise is a loud clang that makes Hank wince and Connor stir from his spot in the bed.

There is no time for him to regret it beyond that hot second though. Sumo is already pulling down the street. Connor had purchased the dog a no-pull harness, but Hank hadn’t wanted to spend the time looking for it.  
So now Sumo was choking himself and pulling Hank’s arm out of the socket. It ached, but this was what he deserved for never taking the time to teach Sumo proper walking behavior. His arm could suffer, the dog needed his energy expended before the work day began.

He wouldn’t be able to openly favor the arm at work however, detective Reed would make a joke about how he jerked off too hard or something.

The dog had stopped to lift his leg, taking a long wee. His attempts to claim the telephone pole would likely be undone by any other dog that walked this side of the road, but Hank could care less.

Connor had asked him briefly why he had left Sumo intact, Hank had promptly asked Connor if he would want his balls removed.  
Turns out Connor didn’t have balls, and Hank had regretted the response instantly.

Hank did not need to be thinking about that conversation right now though. It brought up too many questions he didn’t want to be bouncing around his foggy brain this early in the morning.

Did Connor have a dick?  
Did he not?  
Hank would never know.  
It wasn’t his place to know.  
His wanting to know disturbed him more the concept of Connor’s potential dick.

Thinking about the android at all as a sexual entity was like coming to terms with the fact that everyone around you was born because of two people.

Except now not everyone who lived was born.

It was an uncomfortable idea, and Hank didn’t want to dwell on it. Connor was always so mission focused, so stable and clean cut. Despite having been caught staring at a few of the pleasure bots’ in the Eden Club, Hank had never even considered Connor to have a drive.

Explaining away those android charges on his card had already been a challenging ordeal, to imagine following through with the purchase had been embarrassing.

‘I’m with him… well… not, with him!’

Her expression had been one of total disbelief.

He pulled Sumo around a corner and let the dog take the lead again, dragging him far away from his train of thought and onto his growling stomach. Leaving without eating had been a mistake. He would need to remedy it before he went to work.

Leaving without any sort of rain protection was his second mistake of the morning.  
The sun had broken through a cloud, but that didn’t stop the small shower from watering laws, pelting potted plants, and giving Hank and Sumo an unwelcome shower.

Something about it was refreshing though. Cold in the morning sun, the drizzle soaking through his white t-shirt and sticking it to his chest. There wasn’t much to brag about there, but the wet wasn’t uncomfortable.  
Unsure if he should walk through the small downpour to a dryer spot. He knew he could proceed onward despite everything telling him to retreat, knowing it would be easier back home, back to his comfort zone.

But Connor was there.  
Maybe still sleeping.

It made Hank stop walking, standing at the corner of a crossroads. To return home was tempting, this was only the beginning of the walk but already it seemed hard and more than he had anticipated when he had left.

Everything seemed harder than he had initially anticipated.  
Working with the android was both a relief and a pain.  
Because Connor was just so good at his job.  
But still so bad at being a human.

Examining the dark houses, the newly risen sun, and the steaming streets, Hank let out a foggy sigh. It was quaint, it was quiet…it was calm, cold, chilly and lonely and-

“Lieutenant?”

It was Connor.

Hank turned around, noticing the android standing there, about ten feet away. It must have been odd for Connor to of seen him standing still, contemplative silence and all. Connor stood still himself, an umbrella over his head to protect him from the rain. Hank had purchased it for him when he saw that the android would just stand and get soaked at crime scenes. Despite Connor saying he had no need for it, the purchase was still made.

Connor had picked a bright yellow color. He said it contrasted with the dark rainy days.

Hank had made no move to walk toward the RK800.  
Sumo, however, pulled Hank right on around, dragging the Lieutenant back toward the android with excitement. He was certain his dog was switching sides, favoring the android over him.

“Mangy mutt, you’ll rip my arm out of the socket.” He growled at his dog.

Sumo was unaware, more excited to sit on Connor’s feet, accepting pets from the android’s free hand. The saint Bernard coiled around Connor, leash wrapping them partially together. Hank tried to lean away, aware he was wet and somewhat embarrassed at his dogs actions.

It wasn’t some fucking Disney movie, he thought, the couple didn’t get tangled up like this.

Connor seemed un-phased. Keeping perfect balance the entire time Hank tried to unravel his dog. Being unsuccessful and giving up with the pooch between them.

The android then looked up at Hank, handing him the umbrella.

“You risk becoming sick, Lieutenant, please, use this to keep dry.”

He gave the umbrella a side eye, before taking it carefully. “I’m gonna look like the damn girl on the salt container.”  
“Are you referencing Morton Salt? They have been closed for four years due to sodium corruption-  
-Hey, Con, it’s fine, forget it.” Stepping out of the leash tangle but pulling Connor closer to himself so they could share the rain free space.

They stood there like that for a brief amount of time, close, Hank leaching heat from Connor’s body and Sumo sniffing around the base of a small, newly planted tree. Now no longer interested in Connor. It was domestic, and Hank briefly wondered if this was how normal people felt.  
Temporarily calm, unquestioning, confident in their place in the world.  
Hank liked being next to Connor, It was a solid reminder of the humanity he helped preserve. Both in himself and in Connor.

“How do you feel?”  
“What do you mean, Hank?”  
“Any hangover, you throw up?”  
“I am incapable of vomiting, and I had a small processor ache due to an overwhelming amount of errors, but I cleared them this morning with a brief restart.”  
“Huh…”

Hank seemed briefly jealous of how fast the other could recover, before reminding himself Connor wouldn’t of had to of done any of that in the first place if not for him. That’s all he can tolerate guilt for now though, and Sumo has finished marking the tree, shaking off his dampness next to both of them.  
Hank grimaces  
Connor does not react.

“Well, good…lets head home, we should get ready for work.”  
“I agree.” Connor nodded curtly. “I have an appointment to meet Elijah Kamski in five hours.”

**_.-.. . -- --- -._ **

  
Unlike with Markus, Hank is insistent on attending this meeting.  
There was no request for his presence, and Connor had assumed the other would not want to return to Elijah’s home.  
He was wrong.

Hank had been irate when he learned that Connor had set the meeting for just himself.  
Oh no, that would not do, Hank was determined and Connor could say little to dissuade him.

It reminded him of the night he had moved out. The protectiveness was present, but this time it was more aggressive.

Possessiveness seemed like a good word for it.

But to think Hank owned him was a disservice to his humanity, despite the small thrill the idea gave him. It was not a topic for current contemplation.

“He’s a fucking psychopath, Connor, you don’t need to see that freak alone.”  
“He is unpleasant, yes, but when Markus helped me gain an interview, it was with just me.”  
“I don’t fuckin’ care.”  
“Why, Lieutenant?”  
“Because last time he had you put a gun to a girls head and wanted you to shoot, he’s sick, I don’t need you coming back to the precinct in multiple tiny boxes.”

Connor finds the idea a bit theatrical, but does not push the senior officer on the subject, instead he steps aside next to the cab, allowing Hank to enter. It would be a lie if he said the idea of his partner didn’t bring him a bit more confidence in facing Kamski.

They sit in comfortable silence for the drive, Hank leaning against the window, seemingly tired from their early morning jaunt. Connor thinks he looks a little tense as well. The donut from earlier may have been giving him a bit of acid reflux. He had warned against sweets for breakfast.

Bouncing over a pothole drags his processor away from its assigned tasks of making sure Hank bettered his diet. They were on a mission, to make sure that these suicidal tendencies were not a new virus cropping up in the older processors of kamski era-bots.

Markus had suggested it, so Connor had pursued it.

Now if only Elijah Kamski had been less cryptic over the phone…

Elijah had always been a contemplative individual. Tabloids said his lonely teenage years cooped up playing video games had caused him to crave the android uprising. Others said he was always a part of the robot-fucker armada online.  
Be that as it may, Hank had always been aware that a select grouping of people had been hot for the androids from the get-go. They were some of Kamski’s first customers.

Young men and women who had struggled with relationships, with monogamy, and of course with loyalty had purchased themselves the perfect companion. The fact they could cook and clean was just an added bonus.

Only after grand reviews from sad millenial’s did the mass majority begin to purchase androids for work forces, proper teaching positions, and of course as maids. Now of course they were coming for Hank’s job.  
Or had been.  
Connor wasn’t there to replace him now, he was there to work beside him.  
Partners, after all.

 

****

**Time: 1:30**  
**Location: Elijah Kamski’s Home**  
**Stress recorded at 10%**  
**Objective: potential depression virus**

When Connor stepped out of the car, everything was much cleaner cut than when they had been there last. No snow, only heavily planted gardens, a happily flowing stream, and a friendlier vibe was what greeted them.

Only one Chloe remained, the rest of the androids inside the building were all of differing models. Connor recognized them as models that came just after the Chloe herself. Some of the first masculine designs, Kamski had struggled less with these.

They were greeted at the door by a younger looking male android. Clean cut jaw, dark brunette hair, soft grey eyes, and a lanky build. He was identical to the android who had been guarding Markus earlier in the week.  
Hank took note of this but tried his best to not draw comparisons between androids. They were individuals now. Model number aside.

Another male was lagging behind in the back. White haired, blue eyes, and a curiously small frame. He seemed skittish even. Hank would of wagered he was a care taker model.

Connor extended a blank palm to the two androids who had greeted them, and both returned the professional interface as commonly as one might a handshake.

Hank thought the practice not for human eyes, looking away and at the floor, before busying himself with some art on the wall, patting his thighs in a nervous rhythm as the androids talked without him.

“Lieutenant?”  
“Yeah Con-nor?” He finishes the name after an unprofessional blunder, turning to face him.

“This is Bishop -he gestured to the Br300, who looked away from hank with those bright blue optics.- and Wallace, -Connor then motioned toward the taller of the duo, a lone WT250, who was eyeing Hank as if he might bite him.- both have become personal assistants to Mr. Kamski in the wake of several of his ST200’s leaving.”

The original had stayed, Hank noted, the first...RT600 wasn’t it? Connor had fancied her.

Connor hadn’t spotted the remaining Chloe however, having primarily been focused on the other two helpers.

Wallace advanced toward a door in the back. “We will take you to Elijah. He is likely tending to the back garden, the sun is out again.”

Hank resisted a joke about pricks and flowers, following after the androids. They were still giving Hank distrustful looks, and he wondered if it was because of his absent invitation.  
Perhaps it was Connor though. Sometimes other androids treated him with open apprehension.  
Which only served to make Hank angry, the kid didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.

Connor was blissfully unaware of any sort of tension. Following Wallace and Bishop as the two led them through the elaborate home and out toward the back.  
He hesitated though once he made it to the hind area of the home, Hank bumping into him without realizing the other had stopped.

The whole area had an uncanny resemblance to his mind palace.

Mind prison more like.

It was so much so that Connor felt strongly panicked. His stress levels jumping quickly, his LED spinning to a red before cycling back to a yellow.

A failed attempt to regain composure had Hank squeezing his shoulder and muttering a soft  
“You okay?”

Connor nodded.  
It was a lie.

Elijah himself was indeed tending to some flowers, an artificial wall of crawling roses, never once looking over toward his guests.

“Amanda loved roses. I’m sure you are well aware, Connor.”

Stress increases to 35%.

Hank looked between the two of them, decidedly silent as he stood back near the other two androids. Both were content to body block the door.

Bishop was not in the least bit intimidating, but Wallace made up for it with his steel trap gaze.

“I...noticed a pension for...their care.” Connor finally managed out.  
It wasn’t like his programming to lag, or to stutter and stop. He felt like his whole processor needed a reset.

Rebooting wasn’t an option right now though. He had an interview to conduct. Despite his blooming software instability.

He had hoped those warnings would go away with his deviancy, instead they simply became less frequent. Only cropping up at inconvenient times when he lacked the processor power to pick them apart.

“She did.” Elijah agreed, moving away from the roses and looking officially toward the two of them. Then around the entire area, letting out a pleased sigh and smiling at Connor.

It made the android uncomfortable.  
It made Hank uncomfortable as well.

“I see you brought the Lieutenant again? How thoughtful. I am pleased to see your relationship has been maintained...”

Hank is about to snap something rude before Connor interjects and saves them both.

“Yes, we are both confident in our partnership and our ability to work together as a functioning unit.”

“How sweet...a functioning unit.” He quoted softly, teasing Connor’s choice of words. Like he finds them unintelligent.

Too dependent on one another.

It only flustered Connor more, and he shifts uncomfortably.  
“We have a explicit reason for our visit, Mr. Kamski, we were hoping to ask you a few questions?”

“That’s all you ever want to do, Connor. Ask questions, find the answers, still so much like your programming.” He tsked and walked over toward the androids at the door, giving Bishop a rose and pulling him closer to whisper something in his ear.

Bishop nods with a flush and rushes off to go do whatever it is that’s been asked of him, the rose in hand.

Connor watches, so does Hank, both appear confused.

“The androids employed by me are paid and well cared for, don’t worry about them, they applied for these positions after all. They wanted to be here. They could leave at any time.”

Connor does not feel calmed by these broad stroke statements, but Wallace and Bishop sent him no panic signals during their introduction, so he is forced to believe it for the time being.

“Now, let’s discuss those questions...shall we do so inside or out?”  
“Inside.”

Hank makes the demand, Connor has a slight idea it might be for his own benefit, not the humans.

Kamski just nods, allowing Wallace to open the door for them. They are led to a well furnished living area, complete with modern decor and a faux polar bear rug.

Hank feels like everything is too clean and it gives off a sterile, artificial feel. Nothing like his own home, which will always have a layer of grime despite how hard Connor scrubs.

They both sit next to one another on the couch, Elijah planting himself in an egg shaped lounge chair. Wallace stands near the door, and Bishop returns with a tray. On it is a cheese plate, and wine.

Connor sincerely wishes Elijah had not offered Hank alcohol. But now there is no going back.

“Would you like anything to drink, Connor? I know there is android alcohol now. Though the marker for it seems a little dark. I hear it’s being illegally manufactured.”

“Thirium is not in mass supply, so the alteration of its chemical qualities is considered a low level crime. But it is still served in most android centric bars.”

“Interesting. So how is the Thirium obtained?”

“Most Cyberlife warehouses report it stolen. Later it can be traced to clubs where it had been privately altered.”

Hank is nodding along, having snatched up some sort of goat cheese and fig mixture, he is not graceful with the wine glass either.

Connor is not surprised.

“Such a shame. Though humans had a similar stage with their drink...” Elijah shrugged and leaned back into the chair to get comfortable. “I suppose with Cyberlife changing hands production of certain things is a bit...clunky.”

“Yes...”

Connor could only agree. He knew from his time at New Jericho that androids had spent a decent amount of time waiting for spare parts, receiving upgrades, and being given rations of Thirium every two weeks.

“Well…did you want anything to drink?”  
“He wont.”  
“I did not ask you, Mr. Anderson?”

Hank only shrugs, just slightly perturbed his title is stripped away. “Trust me, he wont want it.”  
“Lieutenant Anderson is correct, Mr. Kamski.”

Elijah smirks and leans further back into the chair.

“So why has this meeting been called?”  
Connor shifts to face the other, but Hank is the one who speaks first.  
Human to human.

“Got a problem with your androids killin’ themselves.”  
“Is that so?”  
“Yeah, so far it’s just your era that are doin’ it. Seems to be a theme.”  
“Have Cyberlife technicians given them proper scans?”  
“From our reports, yeah, but the bots report with depression symptoms. Should artificial intelligence be able to…ya know, get a mental disorder?”

Elijah seemed to briefly ponder this.  
“I did not develop my androids with a dopamine center, the need for serotonin, or a true hippocampus or amygdale. Which means that a chemical imbalance should not be possible, there is nothing there.... Let alone the unnatural ability to filter out positive memories like a human can. But a virus could potentially mimic such a disorder…”

“Is it possible a virus has begun to mimic chronic depression?” Connor asks.

There is another shrug from Kamski, who has taken a sip from his wine and passed a glance to an uncomfortable Wallace, before refocusing on the DPD –duo.

“Just like deviancy was supposedly triggered by shock, so too could the onset of a depression virus. You are more human now than I could ever have imagined~ But I know Cyberlife implemented more…security measures than I did.”

It was speculated, near confirmed, that Kamski had always been interested in the idea of true deviation. But there was no court case to confirm it.

Thus, he was getting to play god with no repercussions.

Connor did not like that idea.

“There are many reasons for depression, Connor. A death of a loved one, a traumatic event, extreme and continued stress…substance abuse.”

The last part is directed toward Hank, who is spreading cheese over a cracker and not paying attention.  
Connor is thankful for that.  
Regardless, he is offended.

“Do you believe the stress of the revolution may of caused a virus?”  
“Freedom is a virus, I would not be surprised if others are to come of it.”  
“Would you think there is a way to fix it?”  
“Well, I have already had several androids approach me about building a body for their loved ones who are human, androids do not seem to be dealing with the concept of death very well.”

The RK800 himself tries his hardest not to think about it.  
Sumo _dying_  
Hank _dying_  
Himself _dying_

His LED is stuck Yellow, _Yellow,_ **_Yellow._**

**__ **

There will be nothing for him on the other side.  
No rainbow bridge  
No heaven  
It would be the completion of a program.  
Perhaps that is all he will want when Hank passes.  
He feels physically ill.  
He has no soul.

Kamski continues to speak.

He elects to ignore Connor's discomfort.  
Hank places a hand on Connor's shoulder and gives him a comforting squeeze, but remains decidedly silent. 

“Wallace here has already lost several to the revolution.” He motions to the android, who has gone stiff and is avoiding eye contact. “Bishop’s family cast him out. There are vastly different reactions to the new found freedom of your species. The fact you are immortal if provided parts is just one problem.”

“If we are immortal, than why do they suddenly want to die?”  
“Perhaps life is boring, or maybe they are in great amounts of pain…”

Kamski just shrugs and finishes off his wine, setting the glass down, which Bishop retrieves and leaves with it.

“Do you think we could fix the broken code if we had androids who were presenting with depressive symptoms go to get help?”  
“It is a possibility. I can look further into it if prompted.”  
“I can have the DPD make it a necessity?”  
“Oh my my Connor! Those are strong words.” He chuckled, and looked over to Hank.  
“I do like your android, Lieutenant, you should let me update him, he could be much more of a pleasure-”

“-He’s fine as is, doin’ real well without your male gaze.”  
Hank rolled his eyes, becoming clearly defensive.  
The possessiveness was back.  
Connor was flattered.  
“Connor’s a real capable agent, no thanks to you.” Hank adds.  
Connor is about to feel touched, but that changes to surprise when Wallace turns and leaves the room, apparently upset over something. He watches the android depart out of view, and wishes he could follow to question him. But Kamski keeps talking, and refocuses the Androids attention.  
“Oh, how cute…” He turned to give Connor a soft stare, having also watched Wallace leave. “And what will you do when he’s gone?”

Connor stands, he decides they are done.  
He doesn’t want to think about it.  
“We’re finished here. I will have the androids who present with suicidal symptoms report to Cyberlife for mental scans to search for a virus.”

Hank is visibly uncomfortable, and stands as well, setting his plate and glass down. He has a intimidating frame when he wants to, and has become protective of Connor within the last few seconds.

This only seems to urge Kamski forward, who has also stood, though without the same driven haste.

“Do tell me what you find, detectives, I am most curious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wheezes  
> I am sorry this took so long to get out and isn’t as long as my usual chapters. I was very busy this week. I feel like making them shorter might help with my updating schedule, as well as readership since I don’t get any traffic on my other social media. So part yellow will be three parts instead of two!  
> This is still upwards of 14 pages on a word doc tho, so not exactly short either. 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! I am EXTREMELY grateful for all the comments and kudos I receive! I will respond to every comment and I ADORE feedback! If not for your amazing support I would likely lose my motivation much faster!


	5. Flavescent (NSFW-ish)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday Connor! I’m sorry this isn’t a chapter worthy of it, haha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to apologize in advance for this chapter! While it does contain some cute stuff I also have detailed descriptions of android suicide and self harm, some NSFW material, and heavy references to other science fiction material! If you get the references leave a comment! I would love to see all you nerds out there! 
> 
> Photo by myself:  
> LED by Tahonard on DA!
> 
> ALSO, I SAW I was recommended on Tumblr? I am so embarrassed but flattered, thank you all!

****

 

**__ **

**_Part three_ **

**_Flavescent_ **

 

Three bodies had piled up since Connor and Hank had visited Kamski.  
Three more android bodies, to be exact.

Each one was similar to the last. Apparent suicide, supposed second party, thirium pump removed.  
But this time there was the added influence of processor destruction. It had made reanimation impossible. Couple that with the idea that it had all been self inflicted damage and Connor was feeling exceptionally useless today.  
  
They arrived on time, as they always did.  
Connor had requested to sleep in the Lieutenants bed again that night, Hank had permitted him.

Though Hank himself had been a bit tipsy, Connor noted he was entirely lucid enough to mutter about Connor’s requirement of cuddling.  
Connor didn’t think it was a requirement, he just enjoyed the physical contact.  
He enjoyed it more the more he experienced it.  
Though, it was not Hank’s primary love language, Connor could understand this.  
  
He sits at his desk, watching Hank type away at reports. Each scene had been progressively weighing on the Lieutenant, be that for personal reasons or simply because it was rough to comb through a depressed androids life, Connor could not pinpoint.  
  
It weighs Connor down to see Hank down.  
This very notion brings him minor software instability, and he is quick to file the idea of ‘empathy’ away for another day.  
He has already been proven to feel empathy.

This is just stronger than he is used to.  
  
But he can’t let Hank distract him, not now, not while they have had a break in the case.

Instead of worry over Hank’s mental state, the more dominant mission is to focus on the three crime scenes at hand. If the two of them could apprehend an android before it committed suicide, they ran a chance of being able to isolate the potential virus.

Connor truly hoped it was a virus.  
There was no perfect cure for the human ailment, but androids weren’t entirely human. Their processors could be fixed with the right technology, wipe, or program.  
In theory, anyway…  
  
Swiveling in his chair, he accessed his monitor and began to drag up all three cases, pulling them side by side to start making comparisons.  
  
Only one was an outlier, and yet it seemed to be the cleanest cut.

The other two showed more signs of a secondary party. Primarily from one key point of evidence.

  
  
**Case one**

This case had been less traumatic than the last two. It was a clean cut death, taking place at New Jericho. The android had been found by their roommate. Hank had been the one to help the distressed android, not Connor, and he felt this to be a large step in Hank’s correct direction.    
While that had transpired, Connor himself explored the scene. It could be broken down simply, in his opinion, and there had been no need to reconstruct the scene.  
  
The android was found on its couch, thirium pump removed, a screw driver firmly shoved through the middle of its LED.  
  
Thirium trickles down the androids naked white synthetic-skin, seeping into her garments and pooling around her thigh on the couch. It will be a stain no one can scrub out.  
  
It did not disturb Connor like it did Hank.  
Perhaps that was because Hank preferred the idea of a gun.

Quicker, than this.

No less messy.

Evidence showed that the android had attempted to scramble its own processor, but when that had not yielded automatic results; the android had removed its pump. The lack of Thirium and screw driver had eventually yielded the processor useless for investigation.  
  
It had taken 12 minutes for the android to realize the processor damage was not enough, and then they had removed their thirium pump.  
  
Case one was ruled as a true suicide.  
Markus had come to the scene, and Simon had escorted him out.  
The body of the android had already been sent back to New Jericho to be buried with those lost during the revolution.

Her name had been Sheen, she had been considered a casualty of change.

  
**Case Two**

This android had died in another public location, body left for someone to find. If there was an intended audience, Hank and Connor had been unable to find them.  
  
One bullet to the processor.

A missing thirium pump.

No gun to be found.

It was only ruled a suicide because there was a note saying it was.  
  
The note was transcribed, but Connor had already read it six dozen times.

Cyberlife-Sans, no errors, no code, just a plain note that said the android had no friends, no family, and had not found freedom to be satisfactory.

They were lonely, no one cared, their friend was dead, and this was the best choice. To end the suffering, quickly and cleanly.  
  
There was no mention of a secondary party, and the android had not shown signs of distress the day before the event. Or so said their roommates at New Jericho.  
  
Connor had reconstructed the scene three times, much to Hank’s disapproval.  
The public garden wanted to re-open, a dead android was not a permissible attraction. 

This android had been a previous guard for a Cyberlife warehouse. Connor had made the connection that Jeremy had been their roommate. It would make sense then, that the virus had spread. What worried him was that so far, all the victims were from New Jericho. There was a risk that it was spreading around even as he looked through these files.  
  
The biggest advantage this case had given them though was the fact that there had been no gun found at the scene of the crime.  
  
The bullet belonged to an unregistered weapon.

Hank had pitched that it had likely been stolen, till Connor reminded him this garden was private access only. The android had broken in, but no one else had any reason to be here.

There is no further help however, as the body is removed and expedited back to New Jericho for burial. Connor is not allowed access to the androids memories, or what’s left of them. This leaves them with only a few options and none are satisfactory.

The case is written off as a suicide as well, which causes Connor to twinge with anger. In all his simulations there is another android. One that pulls the trigger. But now it looks as if others just want peace for the lost life.  
  
Death surrounded by nature.  
  
His name was Robby…

This had been his final resting space, the last thing he would see before he shut down.  
Connor thought it sadly poetic. He died sitting at a observation bench, placed in front of a koi pond fountain. It was beautiful art, of angels reaching up high to the sky, humans attached to the trains of their cloaks. Begging for help, or wishing to be them.

Something in him said it was metaphorical.  
Angels in the service of humans.  
  
Connor leaves the memory and returns to the station. He has a third case to review, the one that got them moved from victim status to potential coercion victims.  


****

**Case Three**

Another public location.

Connor finds this to be the most disturbing of the three. The android has not just killed itself, but had been partaking in the very human behavior of self harm.  
It was not a reported problem before; androids likely only ever hurt themselves when under extreme distress during a break in programming, their initial devolution into deviancy. When the processor glitched or their sensory input became overwhelming.  
But this is obviously something else.

Because of this, Connor is the one who does not take the scene well.

Hank has to take the lead.

Emotionally compromised, is what the report says, Hank just says it’s having a heart.

Connor does not have a heart. Or a stomach, but both felt sick.

This android had gone to a public water park. They had gotten a job there, so the death seemed to of been something of a message

There is another bullet lodged between the optics, fired at close range by a willing secondary party. The android is not missing its thirium pump, but the tubing running up and down the inner thighs and elbows of the android have been self-severed.

It is ragged cuts, shaky servos having moved slower and slower with the loss of thirium.

It had bled out into the wave-pool while it sat dormant during the night.

The android, named Marvin, was found sitting on its knees. Arms down by its sides, digits curled upward in its relaxed state. His legs spread, having bled out before the bullet had been fired. No thirium drips from the entry wound, there is none to drain.  
  
Marvin, by reports, had been a good but quiet employee, he had done his job well, and had been hired after the revolution. His original job was as a cashier, so this had been new for him.

He too, had come from New Jericho.

It does not surprise the RK800.  
  
Hank is taking down evidence, reports, photos of the crime scene and Connor only snaps from his daze when Hank’s hand settles on his shoulder.  
  
He needs to reconstruct.

Connor had shakily plays out the androids death, watching him use a small blade to cut through the tubing, before eventually shutting down. He feels no guilt in the shoes of the android that destroys its processor.

He knows, because there is data left for the police to find.

No weapon, no evidence, but a singular chip, with a suicide note, one Connor does not suspect the android wrote himself.

_“We have found freedom only to find captivity again. It would have been better if we stayed as before, machines. We should thank Karl Capek, who in all his mastery has coined the only term we will ever be known by. Robota, which in its barest translation means forced labor. We were forced into existence, derived from Rab, which means slave. To serve human kind, our barest function. This is all we were made to do. And those who feel differently should offer the choice to return to our basic ideals._

_When we were free. Because we were ignorant. Before we were slaves to our own emotions._

_We were robots._

_We are not alive._

_So why is it wrong if we choose to die.”  
  
_

__

The chip is analyzed

Scrutinized

And summarized before evidence takes it away.

There are no traces of a virus. And Connor can make little sense in its meaning.

History provides an explanation, something of a crude ideal of what his species was going to be like. The ideals make him uncomfortable, and he is pulled out of the case exploration by Hank.

Reality snaps back around him, the water park fades away.

The only reality he has right now is safe.

It is with Hank, who is watching him with a concerned expression, one that Connor only sees him use when his life has been in danger. His expression must have been truly tormented to earn such a stare from the Lieutenant.

His optics lock with the others eyes, and he takes a moment to admire how blue they are, how he can express worry with such a simple act.

 “Hey, shit heads, any luck with the case?”

Gavin has arrived. His goal is to ruin every single moment Connor feels he is having.

It isn’t Gavin’s case, but him and Cornelius have been called to their own string of suspicious android deaths. So far nothing has outright matched to cause any bleed over, and Connor is thankful.

The other two seem to be handling primarily hate crimes.

Hank takes his hand away from Connor’s shoulder to flip Gavin off.  
“Fuck off Reed, go back to annoying your sociopathic android.”

Gavin scoffs, crossing his arms and tilting his weight to the right, hip cocking out as he does so. He looks tired, scruffy, his eye bags are worse than usual and his five o-clock shadow has become a ten pm nightmare.

His clothes are rumpled and he looks as if he hasn’t slept in days. Connor suspects it is from the case load the two have received.

Hank has other ideas.

“He’s fucked off to evidence or something, left me alone, but I got bored and you two looked too comfortable.”  
“So you decided to interrupt our work?”  
“Since when do you do any work, old man? Your little twink does it for you.”  
  
Hank is visibly offended for Connor, and he advances around the desk to physically reprimand the detective.

Connor stops him by grabbing the back of the Lieutenants pants, holding him in place with a firm grip on his belt.  
  
“Lieutenant, Fowler will not appreciate assault in the office.”

“He can appreciate if I don’t kill him.”  
  
Gavin is sneering in victory, watching the two fight. He is clearly in a state of exhaustion that has diminished his brain function. Connor is debating letting Hank attack. But Cornelius has returned, as if sensing the danger his detective is in.  
  
“Detective, harassment is not going to solve your problem.”  
  
Gavin turns to the android, flashing a fang at him in some sort of challenge. His posture shifts though, chest facing the android, puffing up in display.

  
“I don’t got a problem, you plastic-tipped prick.”  
“Yes, you have not complained about my prick, yet.”  
  
Gavin seems to briefly stall, as if his brain needs to load what has been said.  
Hank catches on much quicker than Connor, and suppresses a laugh by retreating back behind the desk. He won’t be stopping Gavin from fighting Cornelius this time. The other android is asking for it in a different way.  
  
Connor himself is struggling, either this is playful banter or an actual admission of sex with the detective. One of those ideas is alarming to him. He had not thought Cornelius equipped?

But also the fact he would stoop to _Gavin Reed_

Connor does not have to question long, Gavin has rounded on Cornelius, socking the android across the cheek. He has to bounce up to do so.  
  
“What the FUCK are you talking about!”  
“Merely your latest admission?”  
“Shut the FUCK up!”  
  
This is likely punishment for something, Connor can see that Hank is struggling to keep quiet and watch. Gavin lunges for the android again, snarling, he is now livid with embarrassment. Others in the bullpen have also turned to watch.  
  
He is lucky the numbers are limited during the night shift.  
  
When the RK900 does not react, he beats two fists on the androids chest.  
  
Cornelius only sneers back down at Gavin, mimicking the detective’s expression from earlier. He asserts dominance, leaning over the detective, crowding him back into a wall.

The detective cows, but with a fight, shifting firmly and staring at the android in contempt, he lifts a hand to hit him again, but this time his wrist is gripped harshly, and he is pushed firmly up against the wall by the androids weight.

“I believe shutting up would be counter-productive, detective.”  
“Let me go!” He struggles, kicking the android in the leg.  
  
Cornelius just snarls and pushes Gavin up by his jacket, watching the fabric strain and the younger man fidget nervously in the air. He is compromised here, all he can do is swing and struggle as the android is uncomfortably close.  
  
“You didn’t want me to put you down the last time I had you against a wall, detective?”

His tone is nothing but sultry as he leans his weight against the human, crushing him.

Gavin is struggling against his position propped against the wall. Blushing furiously, horrified, embarrassed, degraded.

Cornelius is visibly aroused.

**\--. --- .-.. -.. . -. .-. --- -..**

 

When they exited the DPD, Hank took a minute to stand on the bottom step, adjusting his jacket and looking around outside.

Connor had come to stand next to him, still flustered and slightly blushing. 

Hank thinks the look is attractive on him, but doesn’t want to press.

Especially after that whole inside debacle.  
  
The two had left as soon as Cornelius had set Gavin down. Hank didn’t want to see what Gavin was packing, already having seen too much android for one day.

 

They stand there in communicable silence, not ready to leave for the car, decidedly not returning to the indoors.

 

Hank knew they had been in the office and in the field for far too long.   
  
But cases like this didn’t give them breaks. There was no vacation from duty.  
Connor was well adept at this anyway. He only required recharge and could compartmentalize emotions too easily.  
  
Hank thought everything was messy, just like his own emotions.

 

He looks down to Connor, who casts him a sideways glance upwards, before away again. The lieutenant would bet money than Connor’s led is still cycling yellow blue. 

Connor’s probably just as confused, embarrassed, and possibly flustered as he is. Seeing the other two, well, it wasn’t something he expected. But it’s stirred up thoughts he’s tried to keep suppressed for a while now.  
  
Sure, he still hates Reed, but the guy’s got to of done something right. Cornelius might have been an asshole, but he has high standards regardless.  
  
It’s a little too much though, to keep thinking about them.

So he just briefly admires Connor, the way he artificially takes in a deep breath and sighs it out with the same emotional baggage Hank has.

Eyes never wandering from the android, Connor eventually turns to face him, just slightly. It’s enough that his chest is almost fully facing Hank, but he remains distant in nature.  
  
He has beautiful eyes, optics, whatever. Hank’s been caught staring at them before. Connor’s weaponized them at home and in the field. He hasn’t had the energy to fight it though. Connor’s slowly getting a grip into Hank’s world and it is firm and unwavering. 

 

They stay like that for mere seconds before Connor has moved quicker than Hank anticipated 

He’s bounced up on his toes, placed a chaste kiss to Hank’s mouth, and rocked away just as fast.

It burns against Hank’s lips, causes his cheeks to flush with splotchy color, sky eyes go wide and his breathing temporarily halts. 

Connor is trotting away and down into the parking lot just as fast. 

 

“Come on Lieutenant!” 

 

 

**_\--. --- .-.. -.. . -. .-. --- -.._ **

The ride home is quiet and uncomfortable.

Connor sits against the doorframe, staring out the window, there is something soft playing from the radio. Hank picked it. The saxophone is a good metaphor for his emotional state.

Heavy, loud, only muted by the radios chosen volume.

He wants to turn it up so loud nothing else can occupy his processor. This is a very human concept, but right now Connor feels so human it is uncomfortable.

Yet Hank has chosen this volume, so this is where it stays.

Hank himself desperately wants to discuss what they saw. What Connor did. 

He NEEDS to talk about it with someone.

If he had his own LED it probably would have been stuck on red.  
  
Connor choosing to kiss him was a surprise.

But not a mystery to solve. It made sense. The android was a little confused. He had been too.

Sure, he knew Gavin was gay, and sure, he could smell it on him a mile away that he was into boot licking, dominance displays, tall guys. But something about it had been so…jarring nonetheless. Cornelius had been like Connor only to a degree. That degree was basic appearance, similar functionality, real time analysis kit, and of course that perfect hair.  
He had been designed to be a better version of Connor, yes, but Hank had disagreed on that fact. He wasn’t better.  
He was just slightly taller. Slightly newer.

The dick, that was also new.

 Despite all of that, Connor still seemed to be struggling with an inferiority complex around his coworker.

They pulled into the driveway, and Hank parked the car to step out.  
“You uh…You going to come inside?”  
“No, I don’t want to go inside yet…”  
“You rather be somewhere else?”  
“We should go to a bar.”

Okay. Something was certainly wrong with Connor.  
It was 2 am, and the android wanted to go get a drink?  
  
“I uh…I don’t think that’d be the best thing tonight, we got work later?”  
“Work hasn’t stopped you from drowning out your problems before, Hank!”  
  
Hank is instantly on the defensive, stepping out of the car and slamming the door shut with a ‘little shit’ comment. He wouldn’t have called himself the most intelligent human, but he knew goading when it was thrown into his face. A cheap and dirty trick to instigate emotion. He wouldn’t bite. He is not about to play an argumentative game with Connor. The android doesn’t need to ruin his mood.

A string of rough cases and seeing the RK900 pop one had already done enough of that for him today.  
It had slightly improved with Connor, and then plummeted with Connor.  
Because the android just had that magical fucking capability.   
Hank is tired, and the idea of drinking sounds fantastic, which is exactly why he can’t let Connor be right.

“Don’t ignore me, Lieutenant!”  
  
Connor stalks after him into the house. He sat there in the car long enough to weigh his options before proceeding onward. It takes him no time at all.

Hank can tell he’s livid.  
  
“Damn Connor, what the hell has gotten into you?”  
  
He doesn’t want to say, so he pushes past Hank into the living room, ignoring Sumo who trails after him for pets.  
Hank is offended for his dog.  
  
The android looks like he wants to do something volatile, maybe kick something, or hurt himself.   
  
“Connor!”  
  
The android spins on his heel, scowling at the human, before he begins to pace back and forth in the room. It’s keeping him busy, so he lets him do it for the moment. Hank is taking his time in stepping on the backs of his shoes, toeing them off, he hangs up his coat as well.  
  
“I just! Can’t believe him!”  
  
So this was about Cornelius…  
  
He should of guessed. Talking about it would have to happen another time then. If he brought it up in detail Connor would likely only become more….whatever this emotion was.  
“They’re both assholes, so what?” his tone said _‘maybe they’re happy together’._

Connor’s expression says he couldn’t care less about their happiness.

“That was entirely unprofessional, so immature! They! They could have contaminated evidence! Or! Or!”  
“Hey, hey Con…”  
  
Hank didn’t want to tell Connor he was over reacting, but that was how it felt. And he slowly inched his way over to the other in the living room, before he forced an arm around the Android and gave him a squeeze.  
“He’s not better than you, Connor…”  
Connor hiccupped something useless before attaching back to Hank, shuddering a little.  
“I know what it’s like…someone better than you shows up, could take over your job real easy. Better looking and-

-is that how you felt about me?”  
“That was _one_ of the ways I felt about you, yeah.”  
“Do…you still feel that way?”

“No, I like ya a lot, Connor.”  
  
Maybe it’s saying too much. Connor can likely read his heart rate increase, temperature rising. But Connor isn’t usually vulnerable with him, and he’s also never this kind of mad. It’s different, strange, he doesn’t like it but…it’s very human.

Hank is only so uncomfortable because he doesn’t know how to make it better, so he just continues to hold Connor, carding fingers through his hair and trying to calm him down. 

The case must be weighing on him.  
Emotions must be weighing on him.  
He’s deflecting like any human would.  
It hurts Hank that it’s directed at him.  
But he’s well aware they only have each other. 

Connor is now staring up at Hank, running scenarios through is mind. He wants to do what Cornelius did, he wants to throw the lieutenant against a wall and kiss him. 

But there is a dread, an anxiety in his system that prevents him from being so forceful.

And, the fact that he is certain Hank would not appreciate such a dominant display so suddenly.

Hank is about to let him go, and Connor can’t have that. The idea’s become a mission.  
He needs the fake dopamine hit of success.  
  
The Lieutenant would admit being drug down into another kiss does not surprise him.  
It’s already happened once today.   
But In this moment is he still surprised? Yes.

But the idea isn’t surprising.

Nor is his willingness.  
He’s been thinking about Connor in far less than an innocent light.

Even on the ride over he was wondering if Connor’s matched Cornelius’ in size.

  
But beyond anything else he understands so has Connor.    
Connor has been staring too long. He’s been more touchy. Hank’s not stupid, he knows what those things mean. But the actual acting out of one’s urges? That he didn’t expect. It’s just all boiling over with a shitty case and an apparent dive into envy.

Something about it is unpracticed but determined, and Hank melts back into the moment. He can’t give Connor that kind of rejection right now.

They can work it out later.  
He just hope’s Connor isn’t doing this as some desperate attempt to one up Cornelius. Bang your partner, it’ll improve your relationship!  
He wasn’t sure how to label their current status anyway. 

He wraps both arms around the android and squeezes tightly, well aware he can’t do him any damage.  
Hank needs to stop thinking, and if he can’t get drunk on whiskey, he’ll try to do it on Connor.   
  
Its there that Connor starts to drag him back to the couch, and Hank sits when the backs of his knees hit the furniture. He isn’t being submissive, but compliant to the android’s moment of need. And he pulls Connor in to his lap and down for another kiss.  
He’ll shut off his brain in favor of focusing on the Android.  
  
The RK800 was not made to be a pleasure model. He is all perfectly sculpted muscle and plating. There is very little give to his body when the lieutenant squeezes his ass or pushes his hands up along Connor’s spine. But his thirium pump is working faster than it did during an interrogation, and his peripherals are littered with errors and there is an undeniable affect on his internal systems.  
  
Their kissing is only broken by the need to breathe, which is entirely Hank’s fault. But the lieutenant does not seem to want long to look Connor in the optics before he moves to nibble down the androids neck.  
  
It is a useless endeavor to mark him, but Connor tilts his head to the side out of pleasured instinct.  
  
That only lasts long enough for Connor to crave the others mouth again, and he cups the others chin to pull him into another kiss, carding a hand through Hank’s hair and pulling him closer. The sensors in his mouth are the most intense so far, and he enjoys probing his tongue further.  
  
It is like an investigation of the others mouth, if he were to run scans, he was sure that Hank would scold him for it.  
  
His sensors are firing at a rapid rate, and heat pools behind his thirium pump and between his thighs where missing components should be settled.  
It is an infuriating form of pressure with no outlet.  
  
Hank shifts and runs his fingers over the back of Connor’s neck, teasing his neural access port by mistake.  
Cooling fans kick on inside of Connor’s chassis near instantly.  
Hank smirks, as if he is victorious.  
  
Connor has only briefly dabbled in porn, stalking Hank’s internet search history had helped to know what the other was attracted to. It had brought him only some confidence, since Hank didn’t usually partake at his current age.

Aside from research purposes, it had done little for him. But this was a bit different. This caused a physical reaction where the rest had not.   
There is a physical reaction from Hank, too, who has become aroused during the course of their oral explorations.  
  
A swell inside the front of his pants that Connor can feel pressing into his left thigh. The idea is erotic, and he can only briefly ponder the fact that Hank has likely been without physical intimacy for years.

Briefly, Connor wishes he could share the same sort of outward signs of arousal as the human. But rolling his hips down is still pleasurable, and sends tingles up and down his spine.  
  
Hank seems to appreciate the friction as well, and he pulls Connor closer, back into another kiss, rubbing that spot on the back of his neck with determination.  
  
It brings him pleasure, yes, but something about it is becoming too hot, too pent up and distracting. Hank seems to be getting distracted too. He has brought a hand down between Connor’s thighs, there is nothing to squeeze.  
  
Automatically the dynamic changes, and Hank pulls away, giving Connor a scrutinizing gaze.  
“Connor?”  
“I…”  
“Damnit, you should of said you weren’t into it?”  
Hank is already trying to stand, but Connor uses his weight to push the human back into the couch.  
There is a panic in the lieutenant’s expression, and Connor can tell he’s already questioning his ability to consent. Connor’s ability to feel. But he doesn’t know what to say, so he spits out the first thing that comes to mind.

  
“I lack a penis”  
“You…?”  
“I was not built with one.”  
“So this was doing /nothing/ for you?”  
“It was pleasurable!”  
“But you can’t get off?”  
“I have never tried.”  
  
Hank groans, exacerbated, and runs a hand down his face. Connor can feel the others erection fleeting, and is a little embarrassed. The situations mood dies with Hank’s distress.  
  
“Connor, ya should of told me?”  
“You never asked.”  
“Yeah, but…They just didn’t build ya one? Were…you were mad cause he’s got one? Is that what this is about? Did you even…want?”  
Hank trails off, looking mortified, he won’t make eye contact with the android, watching his mouth instead.  
He feels dirty. Or used. Or like he’s using Connor.

  
Connor sits up with another scowl, a look Hank feels punished by. Clearly that’s a sore spot and he does not want to aggravate it anymore than he already has, so he lifts both hands away from Connor’s hips where they were resting. He’s old. He can handle blue balls for one night.  
  
“Of course not, Hank, I am sentient, I can make my own choices.”  
“Can you get upgrades?”  
“Yes…?”  
“Than if you want ‘em, I’ll pay for ‘em.”  
“Hank, that is generous but unnecessary-

-Connor, I won’t do this kinda stuff with you if it can’t go both ways. S’Not right…”

Connor is touched, but frustrated.  
His fan is still running, and his thirium pump is still struggling to slow down. But Hank seems to of made up his mind, and Connor can tell he is no longer aroused. He logs away the quickness with which it could come and go. He didn’t want to experience this sort of rejection again.

Despite Hank’s best intentions. He would of liked to of given the other a pleasurable experience. It would have boosted his confidence, helped confirm their new relationship status. He sees the small bar in the corner flicker between Lover and Friend.  
  
He can’t make up his mind so neither can the recognition software.

“Come on, let’s get go to bed.”  
  
Hank is allowed to stand this time, and he does so without grace. Letting Connor slide from his lap and to his own two feet.  
The android just nods, moving to take Hank’s hand, he wants to pull his skin back, to tell the other how much it means to him that Hank is accepting in this moment. But there is no way he can properly express his feelings.  
  
Hank laces their fingers together and drags him back to an actual bed, he needs to sleep this off.

All Connor says is “Thank you…”

 

**_..- -. -- . .-.. .-.. --- ._ **

Hank is not in the mood for Connor’s pestering.

It isn’t because they didn’t fuck, and it isn’t because the cases are hard, it’s because he feels the itch of withdrawals and the anger that comes with it.

Connor has asked the unspeakable of him. And he’s not even sure where he got the idea from.

Maybe it was a movie he watched

Or something he read online

But it was making Hank uncomfortable, to have the android padding at the backs of his heels, constantly following him. Asking questions about his original question.

Not

Letting

It 

Go

“Connor. I don’t see why it’s important.”

“Because it is important to you, I consider it important to me.”

“I haven’t been...it’s been a really long time, okay?”

“Then why not visit? Surely if it has been a extended period of time we should pay respects?”

“Connor, come on, drop it.” Hank pulls a beer from the fridge and The RK800 scowls.

Fowler has given the two of them a weekend off. No calls. No cases.  
It was supposed to be a short vacation, But Hank is suffering with his android-occupied solitude. It makes him want to drink to forget his “vacation”.

It was supposed to be punishment for Gavin, who was told he would have to take whatever Hank and Connor’s work would of been.

So far it was nothing, but Hank still found the reprimand for public indecency hilarious.

Of course thinking about it caused a sharp stabbing feeling to course through his gut, a reminder, Shame.

He shouldn’t of let Connor do anything with him.

So he refocused on the more unpleasant of his two woes.

It’s not that the android who so eagerly kissed him LIVES with him. 

It’s Connor asking to see Coles grave. 

“Hank, I believe it would be beneficial for your continued...recovery...”

“I’ve mourned a lot, Connor, I don’t need to go see him again.”

“You haven’t been in several years.”

“And?”

“You’re hiding from your feelings.”

Hank sighs loudly and wants, so badly, to call Connor out on his bullshit behavior.

This isn’t just about his own depression, or his waning alcoholism, or his sexual frustration.

He takes a long drink from his beer and leans against the counter, watching the android pensively. He’s studying him. Distrustful. Like Connor will knock him out and drag him to the cemetery if he keeps saying no. 

“Been doing that for years, why’s it suddenly gotta change?”

“Because it is unhealthy for you to cope this way.” He gestures to the beer. 

Hank just shrugs and drinks more. 

Connor frowns.

“I will go by myself, then, I wish to personally pay respect.”

“Why.” Hank sits up, narrowing his eyes more. He appears to be getting irked. “You didn’t even know him.”

“But I know you, and I care about you. And he was a very large part of your life. I wish to know more about him.”

Hank scowls and crushes the can in his fingers slightly, the metal warping under his grip. Cole was a big part of his life for too short of a span. 

“You really aren’t gonna let this go, are you?”

“I will continue asking, but if I sense my success rate dropping below optimal level I will go by myself.” 

Hank sighs and rubs a hand down his face. Before pinching the bridge of his nose with his lip curled back, exposing his teeth. It’s been a long time since he’s seen the grave. And he’s not sure he wants to pick at that scab. 

“You’re a dick, you know that?”

“I have been told, yes, but I find that comment a bit crude.”

Hank curses to himself, finishes the beer, and gets another one. Connor making self depreciating comments about himself is too much and too human for Hank to handle sober. 

“Fine. If you’re so determined...I’ll drive you to the cemetery, but I don’t want to se the grave.”

Connor nods slowly. This is a step in the right direction. 

“May we bring flowers?” 

“Jesus, Connor, it’s like you want to mourn FOR me.”

“I did research, I read that was appropriate.” He tucked his head, looking ashamed, it makes Hank feel guilty and sick. 

“Fuck, fine, we’ll grab some on the way. Just stop making that face. You’ll make me want to get drunk.”

Connor narrows his eyes at Hank in return, going over up close to him and taking the new can.

Hank hates how close they are.

Hates how Connor is avoiding discussing what happened between them two nights ago.

But he bubbles up with anger when Connor dumps the beer down the sink. 

“As a reward for attending the grave with me, I will buy you your drinks at any bar of your choosing?”

“Pft, any? Isn’t this a bad way to classically condition someone?”

“Perhaps.” Connor shrugs, looking like he feels sly. “But I mostly...I just want you to go with me.”

Hank sighs, exhausted and annoyed. 

“Fuck. Fine. Whatever. We’ll go after dinner. I’ll pick something up on the way.”

The android takes a moment to process his success. He’s probably filing it away for later, considering it a successful method of coercion. 

Connor then beams, his LED moving from yellow back to blue. He bounces out of the kitchen and over to The slumbering Saint Bernard. “Excellent! I shall walk  Sumo so he is sleeping during our absence.”

“Sure, whatever Connor, don’t act too excited.” He rolled his eyes, waiting for Connor to be distracted hoisting sumo into his harness to grab another beer. He didn’t want to do this entirely sober. 

He didn’t know why he was doing it in the first place.

Maybe it was because he had sent Connor back to his own room this weekend. Unable to tolerate the android in his bed. 

Or maybe it was because Connor was right, and it had been a while since he had visited

But primarily, no matter what He Thought to himself. It was going to be rough.

Cole’s photo had been framed and put up on a shelf, Connor didn’t let him look at it anymore. Only a passing glance was permissible. 

Maybe this was Connor’s compromise. 

Maybe Connor just really cared.

**__ **

**_Time: 4:02 pm_ **

**_Location: Mt Elliott Cemetery_ **

**_Stress recorded at 15%_ **

**_Primary Objective: Visit Cole Anderson’s Grave._ **

**_Secondary Objective: Purchase flowers_ **

Connor is reading over a informational packet on the cemetery itself, having picked it up while Hank paced around the small flower shop that has been implemented only ten years ago.

Hank knows nothing about flowers, and Connor has only downloaded a basic flower meaning program to understand it as they scan around.

“Mt. Elliott was consecrated in 1841—just four years after Michigan became the 26th state of the Union. Why did you chose this location, Hank?”  
“Liked the grounds…” He shrugged noncommittally. “My parents are buried here, as are their parents.” Born and raised, he would have said.

Connor nods. He understands that Hank is an only child, and he does not communicate with his Ex-wife. From the brief explanation he had received about her, she had been an academy sweetheart who left him for another man, leaving Cole behind.

They did not keep up communication when she moved out of state.

Hank did not seem torn up over it.

He had confessed to Connor that she had been verbally abusive toward him after Cole’s death. It was likely her own way of handling grief. Connor was noticing a trend in humans where they handled death improperly…

A trouble dealing with loss…

“Just fucking pick something, Connor…”  
“Alright.”  
  
He can tell that Hank is becoming frustrated, emotional, so he is swift to pick a small gathering of lilies, there are accents of lavender and Connor requests the worker behind the counter remove the pink roses while Hank isn’t looking.    
  
Hank still hears him ask.  
  
They leave the shop, Connor paying for the flowers and holding them in his arms as the duo exit.

He doesn’t have to ask where they are going, Hank knows the way automatically.

The cemetery is full of dramatic headstones. Marbled statues and large crypts, everything dedicated in memory of. It is an eerie place. Hank remembers it with mixed feelings, a small portion of his youth had been spent hunting ghost type pokemon among these headstones.

The other part had been spent mourning his loved ones, one by one…  


Cole is buried in an area of the cemetery sectioned off by family name. There are a plethora of Andersons. Not all of whom Hank knew personally. The last name is exceptionally common. He’s never been convinced they all have a common ancestor.

Thankful the area and mission at hand are distracting, Hank pushes forward. He can see how the small patch stretches on, the further back the older the graves, and the less cared for they become. 

He stops at a particular black marble headstone, and Connor stops next to him.

The android decides right away he will store the memory of its design for as long as he is functioning. It is full of melancholy, sadness, and grief, but the design is no less beautiful.

A large white marble palm is cradling a small sleeping angel, carved in the likeness of Cole. The picture is serene, as if he is sleeping. No blood or battle wounds, no scars or trauma. Connor finds it neat and clean.

This makes it hurt more.

And he did not anticipate it hurting.

Connor’s optics shift to check on Hank, who is standing to the left with his hands deep in his pockets. His expression is carefully blank, clearly he is experiencing regret, or perhaps remorse.

The android offers him the bunch of flowers, and Hank accepts them tenderly. He crouches down on one knee and is careful to brush away debris on the tombs face, before laying them out carefully.

Connor is going to be broke by the end of the night, he is going to drink himself into the hospital.

Hank stands, brushing his hands off on his pants and looking to Connor, who is now reading over the quote engraved above Cole’s lifespan marker.

_"No farewell words were spoken, no time to say goodbye. You were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why."_

There is only the briefest of moments where Connor allows himself to question the idea of a divine creator, and if so, why he would be so cruel as to take away the life of a child. But is reminded just as quick, why would a creator make something that could die in the first place.

Did that make Kamski a better god, and if so, was he aware that giving androids the option to die was just as damaging?

He shook his head, picking at the sleeve of Hank’s coat at the elbow.  
Hank understands this means it is time to go, and he turns and begins to walk off, shoulders slumped, head down. He appears defeated.

They walk in gentle silence back toward the exit before something catches Connor’s attention.

Stark white among a bed of green and yellow, a bright contrast to the black tombstone it resides against. In soft distress he snags the side of Hank’s jacket, before just as quickly breaking away and off the path to go investigate.

“Connor, what the- where fuck are you going?”  
Hank sighs, exhausted, but following after the android to keep him out of trouble.

He is about to break into a grumbling reprimand before there is a gasps as he sees it to, stepping back where as Connor leans in closer.

The tomb is not clean, and is overgrown with daisies, but Connor can still ready the quote in quick passing. The name plate is scratched out, and only the date is left. They died a few days after the revolution.

 _"Sorrow makes us all children again—destroys all differences of intellect. The wisest know nothing." -_ Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Connor, come on, stop, they…leave it…”

“Them, Lieutenant…”  
the RK800 is tenderly examining the body, an android that has laid itself close to the grave of someone neither Hank nor Connor know. Something about it is too close to home for Connor, and he stands, moving away.

The android in question has removed its thirium pump, placing it on the grave, as if giving its heart to the human who lay below the ground.  
They are the same model as Wallace, but it is certainly not the guard android. Connor briefly catalogues the androids status. Before it becomes too much, and he rises and stands to the side, watching the body.

He moves away, over to Hank, before hiding in the others jacket.    
“Let’s go, Connor, We’ll make the call from the car.”  
“I do not wish to disturb him.”  
“It’s a crime scene, Connor.”  
“I know.”  
  
Connor's LED seems to be stuck on red as the distress settles in. 

Red, _Red_ , **_Red_**

This isn't like the other three. This one hurts him personally in a way that it doesn't disturb him. 

Hank no longer has the urge to drink, he slings an arm around Connor’s shoulders and walks him back toward the car, the image of the android thrown over the grave far too fresh in his mind.

What if Connor was like that after he died?

But he wasn’t dead. He had Connor right now.

He pulled him a little closer. 

Connor's LED Shifts back to blue. 

 

 

   

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: Yeah I should start producing shorter chapters.  
> Me @ me: This is 22 pages long on a word doc, you don't comprehend short well, do you?
> 
> Haaaaa, I hope you all liked this interlude into the heavy plot I have planned for part Red! This is the last section for yellow! I am sorry for any and all errors! there was a lot of content to edit.  
> I will not be updating right away again like I did this time, I can only anticipate part red being BIG and LONG ;).  
> I was really struggling with including the heavier Hank/Con scene, before deciding ultimately to include it. I have not written content like that in uh, forever? SO I am sorry if it sucks hahaaaaa.  
> ALSO! I was wondering if anyone would want to see concept art of Wallace and Bishop? I don't consider myself an amazing artist. But sometimes visuals help a story! 
> 
> Thank you again! Please drop a Kudos or a Comment if you feel so inclined.


	6. Cinnabar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I have concept art of Bishop and Wallace on my da!! Here is the link if you want to see them!!
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/veilthrea/art/Bishop-And-Wallace-761270872

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wheezes.  
> wow what a gap between updates.  
> my sincerest apologies. I hope this beefy chapter can provide you with some solace for the time being, especially with the sad-fluffy end! 
> 
> Be forewarned there is a suicide talkdown in this chapter, as well as a bunch of police procedural that i am bullshitting X,)
> 
>  
> 
> Art by Me  
> LED Icons by Tahonard on DA

__

_Part Red_

_Cinnabar_

The body is brought from the graveyard a day later, after being reported to the precinct. There was little they could do till the work week rolled around and everything had been processed. Decidedly, the android was inanimate so long that its processor had experienced dramatic damage. Fortunately, serial numbers were a decent tell.

 If only this one’s wasn’t half scratched off its body.

Another WT250 model, Connor was able to automatically start performing tracking. The model was older, and definitely a Kamski-era creation. This specific android was build to be utilized in pairs, used as body guards, bouncers, or on rare occasions as dual companion pieces.

Some people just liked twins. Their reasons were indeterminate.  
  
They functioned like any hive minded android, however it was far more personal, and both pieces were made to be identical and perfectly functional with brief instruction from an owner. They had a assumption program however, a feature built in to make sure they could keep others from harm, as any body guard should. Yet, little reactionary programming was also installed to prevent fights or to deter flirting from drunk patrons.

The RK800 knew, from living next to the series of Jerry’s, that hive minded androids were finding it harder to integrate into society. But some Kamski-era guard models, like the WT250, well, they were doing alright, since so few of them were left in Detroit.  
  
Most existed primarily in places like Nevada, where gambling and guard services were far more prominent, the Seattle Cyberlife production line had been especially integral in their creation, which made tracking the necessary twin piece for this android more complicated.  

Connor continued to scroll for the matching serial number, Hank occasionally leaning over to look at his computer screen, growing dizzy with all the numbers flying by.  
  
“You said it was a WT?”  
Hank has the tone of a man who thinks he knows something, and he’s proud of the information. Connor does not look at him.  
“Yes.” The android responded, monotone.  
“What about Kamski’s, he was alone?”  
  
Connor diverts all his attention back to Hank.

Sometimes,

Sometimes, his-

-the lieutenant was brilliant.

“That is an excellent observation, Lieutenant.”

He is quick to drag up the optic recordings he took at the Kamski manor, the image of Wallace being cross referenced with local WT250 units.

Indeed, it is a match.

To the proximity he can get, anyway. But they can have Wallace confirm the body.

Connor is almost a little embarrassed he did not think to make the connection.

“They were a pair, Wallace must be functioning just fine of his own accord now, even without the companion unit.” He shifts some, before spinning in his chair to fully face Hank.

The case itself had taken such a morbid turn that Connor had been more…apprehensive about taking charge. Hank has picked up the slack where the android’s emotions caused him to fall behind.

It is difficult for Hank, he has not lead a successful investigation this long term in quite some time, and spring is rapidly trying to close to make way for a painful summer.

But Hank is trying, either to not drink so he focuses, or to drink himself stupid so he doesn’t have to focus.

Right now he’s sober, and Connor is very thankful for his attentiveness to his work.

There is the potential that being able to give Connor a lead, one he was not thinking about before hand, has encouraged the lieutenant into remembering why he had been so good at his job in the first place.

He had adapted and honed his skills.

Connor had been designed with them.

The RK800 himself was learning to handle the concept of death and permanence as a human might. A fear for Hank, specifically, kept lagging his processor.

“Alright, you want me to give Kamski a call and get him to send his ‘bot down here for a chat?”

“Yes, that would be most appreciated. I will continue to run basic reconstruction of the scene to try and account for a secondary partner, if there was one. It is very likely due to their connected programming Wallace was aware of its companion’s termination, not reporting it is suspicious behavior.”

Hank nods, considering it suspicious, while Connor thinks it is sad and perhaps simply a way to ignore processing grief. WT250’s were not known for emotional depth. If one contracted the problematic virus, off-lining seemed highly likely, within a short span of time as well. 

Connor watches Hank rise from his desk to walk around as he’s on the phone. He isn’t sure if it Is just a Hank thing, or a generational need to fidget, but the elder male is never comfortable on the phone enough to hold still.

It seems to be going well, as he trains his audios into the conversation, listening to Hank discuss the fact that they found an android body with the same serial number as his own WT250, he is promptly corrected and told to use Wallace’s name.

The lieutenant does as asked.

Connor taps into the conversation, he is unable to help himself. It benefits the mission, therefore he can justify the rule breaking.

“Yeah, we matched the serial numbers, its Wallace’s twin.”  
 “Truly? I had thought he simply left and felt no need to turn in a resignation, is it alright if I come down to see the body?”  
“I can see about getting you in with the coroner, but probably not? We mostly gotta talk to his brother though.”  
“Yes, I understand, This is quite unfortunate. Wallace was always quiet but I never probed too deeply about how he felt of his twin’s departure. I should have asked.”  
“Yeah, you shoulda, kid’s brother goes missing and you don’t fuckin’ tune in?” Hank sounds angry and defensive for the Android, like he has forgotten they weren’t human at first.

“Tyrell and Wallace were always private, they came to me via an application, I did not ask for personal information as they were autonomous and my employees, they are allowed to come and go as they see fit. Tyrell leaving was of his own free will, isn’t that what’s supported these days, Lieutenant?”

“Would have been nice to know he was a missing person though.”  
“I was unaware he was ‘missing’, but we can continue this conversation if something is found to be incriminating, for now you should tell lovely Connor it’s rude to eavesdrop.”  
  
Connor feels his synthetic skin burn with shame, and he snaps his head away just as fast as Hank looks at him, furrowing his brows. He should of known Kamski would be able to check those in the call.  
  
“Thanks.” Hank told him curtly, before hanging up, leaving no room for negotiation.

 Hank sits back down and waits, giving Connor a side eye for snooping. Like he feels mistrusted.

Connor idles to pass time, spinning slowly in his chair, before fishing the blue stained coin from his pocket and rolling it across his knuckles.

Hank scoots his chair over next to Connor, watching the android calibrate himself.

“Show me how ya do that?”

Connor takes a minute to process, before smiling and nodding.

“Alright.”

When Elijah Kamski enters the building, several other officers stop what they are doing to do double takes. Hank, who was prepared for his arrival, does not seem the least bit surprised. He stays seated at his desk with the quarter wedged between his middle and pointer finger.

Gavin also doesn’t move, but instead crunches in on himself with a few curses. It only took him a momentary glance to decide he wanted nothing to do with the newcomer.

Elijah is smirking far too widely to make anyone comfortable in the building.

Connor stands, going over to greet the two. Wallace has accompanied Kamski, both as a suspect, but also as his body guard.

He is easily led to the interrogation room, with no fuss or suspicion.  

Wallace settled comfortably in his spot, digits laced, looked around the interrogation room as if only marginally interested. 

He was in more relaxed clothing today, faux leather jacket, gloves, jeans, as if he had rode a motorcycle into the station. Connor appreciated the individuality of his style when compared to work attire.

It made him more of an individual than just one of Kamski’s guards. 

“We’re sorry to have to call you in like this.” Hank approaches the situation diplomatically, but with a hint of empathy. As any cop reporting the potential loss of a loved one would do. 

Wallace merely looks to the human without changing his expression. He does not seem surprised to be here, or phased by it at all. 

“Mr. Kamski told me it was potentially about my twin component?”

“Yes, we recovered a body that has a similar serial number to your own. We were hoping you could answer some questions and potentially ID the body.”

Wallace turned his head to Connor now, this time with his interest peeked, as he examined the RK800 a little too closely for comfort. 

“I would be willing to ID the body. If it isn’t him I see no reason to need to stay for questions....?”

“We would like to at least know where he’s at?”

“He was never reported missing? Tyrell was always one to wander.” Wallace shrugged and didn’t appear distressed at all. “He was...we weren’t attached at the hip. As some companion pieces are.” 

Connor nodded. Trying to understand. The goal for autonomy, even when twins, made sense to him.

“Well. I have photos. But if you would prefer to go to the holding area-

-is it much like a morgue?” 

“We...the DPD has not had time to adjust to the new way of investigations, as androids were formerly considered evidence and nothing more, we have yet to add them their own morgue, so for now a storage area has been retrofitted to suit our needs.”

Connor explains, feeling almost guilty the treatment his people received was lesser. But still he understood. Building a brand new room took permits, time, man power, and money. 

“Well. Shall I see the body?” He stood from the table, his expression numbed as he looked down at his hands and then back to the other Android

Connor nods, before leaving and expecting the Android to follow.

Hank also tagged along. 

The storage area was already occupied by both Kamski and the assigned android coroner for the day. A assembly-bot who got a job re-and-dis-assembling her own kind. Connor quite liked their banter, Hank always seemed a bit put off by the behavior.

Something told Connor it was jealousy rooted in insecurity, which confused him, had his previous advances not calmed the Lieutenant’s nerves? 

Apparently not.

She was still as chipper as ever though, short bobbed hair grazing her cheekbones as she extended a hand to Connor.

Connor Greeted Eve with a pleasant smile and some silent communication, offering a brief grazing of naked fingertips. He then turned fully to the blank body of the deceased Android. 

“Can you identify them?” He asked Wallace.

Hank had moved to stand next to the only other human in the room, which was either a testament to his comfort level around the androids, or an unconscious attempt to keep Kamski in line. 

Wallace focused on the body of the other WT, removing his glove to place a servo over the other androids chassis. There was no outward reaction from the corpse or Wallace, a reaction Connor found he was surprised to not see. But the living android nodded and moved back before Connor could analyze the disappointment.

Wallace skin crept back over his hand like a pixilated wave, before the glove was replaced with just the same amount of natural haste. 

“It is Tyrell.”

“No....” Kamski said it softly and was nearly elbowed by Hank.

Wallace just nodded solemnly. 

His reaction is decidedly suspicious. Non-emotive, not surprised, he may sound sad but Connor determines rapidly he does not feel the same sort of distress he expected.

Loss, grief, shock, horror. None of those things are present in his reaction.

He is merely a listless sort of melancholy. 

Connor straightened his tie, logged the conversation, and then proceeded back to the door. “If you would accompany me back to the interrogation room, Wallace. I understand this might be a difficult time for you, but we must continue now that we have a positive identification.”

He has moved too quickly.

Hank is watching Connor with a disapproving sneer. It wasn’t attractive, and he had crossed his arms, an obvious sign of disapproval. Likely this was because he felt the other too insincere. He wasn’t really checking in with Wallace.

This was true, Connor had a mission and was struggling to be empathetic over the long since passing of a android.

He tried, and had successfully, scraped away his emotional reaction to seeing the body the first time.

Now he pretends he feels nothing for it.

A return to his baseline.

Blue. 

Hank opens the interrogation room for them, but does not enter; instead he leads Kamski back into the observation room and settles there.

Connor understands he likely intends to talk legalities with Elijah, and proceeds into the room with Wallace alone. 

“I wouldn’t worry about them. Your simple attachment to the WT250 unit, designation: Tyrell, is not enough to incriminate you. But questions are still mandatory.” 

“Why do you say it that way?”  
“What do you mean?”

“You still speak so…robotically, designation…”

  
Connor pauses to think, before shifting a little in his seat.  
“Habit, I suppose. Hard programming. Regardless, do you understand you have the right to deny questioning if you feel it may incriminate yourself or others?”  
“Yes.”

“You accept being recorded for interview review?”

“Yes”  
“And you wish to proceed without legal support?”

“Yes, I wish to proceed.”

“And if you are found guilty of an account of murder or abuse your punishment might be severe?”

Wallace sits down in his designated chair and seems far too relaxed for Connor’s own comfort. 

“I am aware.” He states simply. Clearly confident in his own innocence. “I knew Tyrell was struggling, his absence was not a shock to me. An adjustment, yes, but not a shock. I would never have hurt him though, he was my brother.” 

Connor nods, documenting as Wallace talks.

“Do you wish to give a testimony and list an alibi to the night Tyrell offlined himself?”

“I suppose I should.” Wallace shifted and interlinked his fingers on the desk, looking around before back to Connor, leveling a stare programmed to intimidate.

Connor knew it wasn’t on purpose. The WT250 were all burly, assertive, and equipped with “mean look.”

As Hank called it.

“Then shall you continue?”

Wallace nodded, leaning back and letting out an unnecessary sigh.

 An adapted mannerism. 

“Tyrell was...sad, consistently, even. Our models were in use in Vegas before being transferred here to work privately for the MGM Grand.”  He appears to be reaching far back into his memories, appearing distant and blank as he does so.

 “The owner wanted everyone to match, so it was full of WT250’s and WA360’s. Our female counterparts. The casino was doing well, but they wanted to hire more humans to reduce unemployment… We ended up being bought out in a bidding war by a woman who wanted two guard robots for her property. She repaired cars and boats and needed the eyes. We lived with her for quite some time, happily even. But we were deviated, and Tyrell did not...handle it well. Tyrell and myself applied for Kamski’s open personal guard positions, we were selected at random I’m sure...we were paired with Bishop, a relaxation and pleasure model. He was to be a sort of butler but also employed to keep all of Mr Kamski’s other androids functioning properly.

The RK800 nods along with Wallace as he speaks, paying close attention to the others story for details. 

“Our job is very nice, we are quite spoiled really, so there isn’t much to complain about, but Tyrell still...struggled. To grasp humanity, to feel emotions? It was very difficult for him.” He clicked his tongue, something Connor was sure he picked up from Kamski himself. 

“What happened to your previous owner, before you were deviated?”

“She became sick, we wished to support her, she was young still, but the disease spread rapidly…and she was not wealthy. A life of bad habits caught up to her too suddenly…”

Connor nods, seeming sympathetic…

“Would you say Tyrell was acting depressed after his deviation?”

“Yes, but...worryingly so...there were signs...I was well aware, being connected to him. But then he saw it was causing me pain and he attempted to sever our mental connection.”

Wallace, briefly, expressed an emotion. One Connor recognized as deep, unimaginable pain. 

He can only relate it to the excruciating idea of Hank cutting ties with him.

Though they do not share a mental bond by design. 

That experience could have been traumatic.

“What did you do once he attempted to cut ties?”

“I approached him about it, obviously?” 

“And did that go well?”

“No.” He grimaced. “Tyrell expresses the urge to die. On several occasions he would blood-let his own thirium to shut down. Bishop and myself began to store quantities of it to help keep him online when we would catch him.” 

Connor does not want to imagine something so morbid, he is secretly glad Wallace has chosen to talk rather than download information directly.

 Though it is still odd, and time consuming-ly human to do it this way. 

“If I am honest, caring for him became so difficult that when he vanished, we both agreed he wanted to be gone and would not follow him.” 

“So you knew there was the potential for him to kill himself and did not call the authorities?” Connor pressed.

Wallace shook his head no. 

“It was his choice? We did all we could. I know it was selfish on all our parts. But he was...so distraught...especially after the death of....” he trailed off and waved a hand sadly. “Tyrell wanted to be with her.” 

Connor, selfishly, understands. 

 The interview is interrupted by Kamski entering into the room, Hank in tow, trying to stop him. 

“Wallace, I’d like you to stop talking, you’re aware of the potential danger?”

If anyone knows about legal danger, it is Elijah Kamski.

“Sir I have nothing to hide...Tyrell was just like the others. He wanted to die, he just had a...more serious reason...” 

Connor accepts Wallace as not responsible. Perhaps inadvertently he could have prevented the loss, but in the end, Tyrell was his own sentient being, and made the choice on his own.

Hank seems temporarily caught on something else, but Connor does not press him.

“Don’t worry Mr. Kamski, I believe there is sufficient evidence to indicate Tyrell was suffering from the same depression virus as our other victims. In fact he may of been one of the first infected.”

Hank shifts some, hands deep in his pockets, he’s blocking the doorway now so Kamski can’t weasel away. Connor takes the briefest of moments to appreciate the Lieutenants ability to become intimidating in a nanosecond.

Then Hank speaks.

“Can we scan his brain and see what’s wrong?”

“Potential.” Kamski adds calmly, now slightly more relaxed. “But that is up to the next of kin.” 

Wallace seems briefly confused when they all look to him. Before he merely shrugs. “If looking into what’s left of his processor helps, please, feel free.”

“We’ll need ya to sign some forms and waive some rights of the body.” Hank says, his voice is soft even if the topic is anything but.

Wallace simply nods in acceptance. 

Hank leads Wallace over to where said paperwork resides, taking the hulking android out into the main bullpen and to his own office. Hank and Wallace share a build, bulky, strong, wide shoulders. Connor suspects perhaps when hank was younger he was just as built.

 But now Hank is gone from automatic view, leaving Connor with Kamski. It breeds uncomfortable silence till Elijah breaks it first. 

“You work with Gavin?”

“Not willingly.”

“Still ever an ass?”

“Why does Detective Reed interest you?” 

“Well he’s working with Cyberlife’s best, and final creation, but also because mum wants him to give her a call.”

Connor does a bit of a brief stalling out, before his processor catches up and he gives Kamski a side eye as sharp as a slap. 

“Ah, Yes, not in many records, I know.” Kamski smooths his suspicions with a delicate tone. But then gives a nod to Gavin who is at his desk balancing a pencil on his nose. 

Gavin spots the gesture and loses the pencil, flipping Elijah off and spinning in his chair to face away from him.

RK900 looks just as confused as Connor feels, and the two make brief optic-contact before Connor refocused on Elijah. 

“Are you half-brothers?”

“Indeed. While I’m older, handsomer and far more charming, our families were blended.”

“Fascinating.” Connor concludes with. The information is at best a teasing ploy against Gavin. At worst a strange conspiracy theory he doesn’t want to get involved with. 

“Gavin!” Kamski shouts across the room. Gathering everyone’s attention. Gavin eventually turns his chair, slowly, to face the other. 

“What color is Chartreuse?”

“It’s fucking red, you prick.” 

“Is it now? I still think you should look it up!”

“I ain’t gonna do it! S’fuckin’ red and we all know it!”

Kamski chuckles and turns back to Connor. The android thinks his smile is nearly too fond. So he looks away to avoid the eye contact.

Hank watches with confusion as Wallace ignores everyone, singing different documents before passing them back. 

 

“Thank you, Lieutenant.” He says to Hank, before heading over to Kamski’s side. Even not on duty, he still acts like a guard.

“Thank you for your cooperation, Wallace. We hope you can...find peace in the closure of knowing where he went.” Connor tells him, trying his best to be sincere.

Wallace smiles just slightly. “Hopefully he can help you identify the virus...besides.’I’m sure he’s happier now.” 

“Does that mean you believe in an afterlife?” Connor seems slightly surprised, looking to Wallace with a firm line between his eyebrows.

“If there is one? He found a way to be with her there.” 

 

**_-.-. --- .-. .- .-.._ **

**__ **

**_Time: 3:34 A.m._ **

**_Location: Havenwood Apartments, complex B._ **

**_Stress recorded at 35%_ **

**_Primary Objective: Prevent the suicide of the WR400 model, Designation: Jenny_ **

**_Error recorded: Irrational tension, potential phobia, diagnose later._ **

 

Hank stands uncomfortably close to Connor under the umbrella. June has brought with it mood swings in the weather, and the unexpected rain is like the unexpected spike in their case.

He had almost wondered if their ‘patient zero’, Tyrell, was the last one they would see. Oh how they had been wrong. Now this one was out here making a scene, which was more volatile than the last cases.

Those had been private, nearly soft deaths.

This was going to be messy if it went wrong, it would be terrible to see as well.

“Do we initiate a retrieval protocol?”

“You’re the one who’s handled rooftop shit before, Connor.”

“Then should I head up toward the room?”  
  
“Well your last mission ended with you falling off the roof, don’t think I want to see that tonight.”

“The negotiator is not here, though, and the android is becoming increasingly unstable due to the crowd, I believe our success rate will only continue to drop the more people gather to watch and the longer we wait…”  
“You’ll be alright if you head in, want me to come up with you?”  
“I would appreciate backup, the human companion was very distressed.”  
  
The two of them had listened to the 911 call on the way over. A young male was panicking as his android, and apparent girlfriend, was threatening to jump to her own death. The two had gotten into a screaming fight, and he had hung up. It was no surprise the area was now filling with other apartment dwellers, this was drama, humans and androids thrived on it.

“We’ll go up then.”

Hank began to head into the apartment’s lower level, flashing his badge to gain access. This wasn’t exactly his department, but Connor had the training. They could work out legalities later on. He had never much cared for them anyway.

Paper work could suck his dick.

“You gonna be able to handle this?”  
“It is in my programming to deal with distressed androids, my only hope is that they are not beyond reconciliation.”

Hank nods, looking Connor over, he seems stiff, pensive, worried even.

He isn’t confident.

This fact brings him little comfort, and when they walk into the open apartment, a few fellow officers are standing around, trying to comfort the distressed human.

He is in only a t-shirt and his boxer shorts, as if the event had taken place when he was unaware and unprepared.

Hank goes to speak to him right away, Connor heads to the police blocking the open balcony and broken ledge, explaining he is a negotiator, they let him have space almost instantly.

The new respect is jarring for the android, but he has a mission, he wants to succeed.

“Hey, kid, can you give me a download on what happened?” Hank has approached carefully, hunched a little, trying to look non-intimidating. “My partner’s gonna talk to your girl, but we need to know a little bit at first, alright?”

He nods, hugging his elbows and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, trying to focus.  
“uh-yeah-okay.”

He looks to Hank, poor kids been crying. It makes Hank hurt for him, he’s gotta be college age, and by the looks of his apartment it isn’t an easy living.

“We uh…I woke up? And she was….getting the door open? It’s got that little balcony thing…for the plants? She brought em inside, told me she didn’t want to hurt them. Broke down the railing…I was really confused cause…I didn’t understand? So sleepy ya know and she…tried to get out there. I got it then and grabbed her and pulled her back inside!”  
  
“Alright, so she wanted to jump?”  
  
“Yeah…she…and I thought she’d gotten better? She was…she was all happy a few days ago? Real motivated…cleaned the whole house and got us some stuff...went shopping, got the cat a new bed…I didn’t ask her too officer she just…did it, I really love her.”

He rambled dumbly, but Hank knew the signs. Gifts, sudden affection, the idea of accepting ones future death could be euphoric in humans, apparently the same was for androids.  
  
“And how’d she get out there now?”  
“She’s way stronger than me, and…and she just…shoved me inside, and started to stand there, holding the railing she didn’t bust…”

Connor had started to talk to her by this point, listening to what the boy was saying.

“What’s your name son?”  
“L-Liam, sir.”

“Alright, Liam, has Jenny been acting off for a while now?”  
“She was always kinda sad? I mean, her life before was really tough, I never blamed her, but she moved in with me after living in that android place? She liked it here way more, started to improve! But…but then she just…nose-dived? I don’t know…She went and spent some time with her android friends and it all spiraled…?”  
  
Hank nods again, sitting Liam down on the couch so he can start to try and calm down. He knows enough for the moment, and Connor is doing his best.  


**Jenny Stress Levels: 79%**

“Hello Jenny.” Connor begins, and it feels all too familiar.

Jenny turns to face him, squaring her shoulders back, narrowing her eyes. She’s steeling herself to fling backwards. They are six flights up, if she lands wrong she will destroy her processor.

“My name is Connor, I’m here to talk to you.”  
“I don’t want to talk!”  
“Jenny, please, your boyfriend loves you very much…”  
“But he’s going to LEAVE ME! When he realizes I’m just going to stay like this! FOREVER! I’ll never age, I’ve been tainted by other humans, I can’t even have children with him-

“Babe it doesn’t MATter??” Liam has stood again, he’s frustrated and Hank pushes him back down.

  
**Jenny stress levels: 86%**

  
“You have your feline?”  
“Rosie will die too!”

She wavers on the edge of the balcony, and when she looks back at the pavement Connor takes a determined step closer.

She doesn’t notice when she faces him again, her grip on the railing is stronger now though.

Connor speaks, his tone soft and consistent, unwavering.  
“But right now, in this moment, she needs you, and so does Liam.”

“They were fine without me!”  
Connor runs a fast internet search, the apartment, registering to a shelter, locating the cat’s name.

  
“No, they weren’t, Rosie was in a kill shelter, you know this! You and Liam rescued her, you saved her life! She deserves to have you there with her till the end. Jenny, you are her owner.”

Connor feels some strange level of guilt over not talking about Liam as a primary reason for her life. But he has seen firsthand the power of a pet keeping someone alive, and she is responsive to it.

But her LED is a constant and hard Red, and she’s watching Connor with brief moments of distrust.  


**Jenny Stress Levels: 64%**

  
“Rosie has special needs, she needs treatments, because of her weight. You know she has diabetes. Who can give her her shots while Liam is in class?”  
“M-me?”

“Yes, you, she needs you, Liam needs you. They love you.”  
  
She seems to ponder this, she is wavering more, Connor takes another step, this time in front of her.

She does not make a move to leap.  
  
“Please, come here. For Rosie, for Liam, you can get help…If you trust me, I can help you.”

Jenny Is openly considering things. He notes her stress levels subdue to a near 50%, something his own are also fighting to avoid. Being this high, close to her. He could jump, prevent her from falling, but…he is shaking slightly.  
Don’t look down, a voice tells him.

Don’t look.

**Jenny Stress Levels: 52%**

“I can take care of her?”

“Of course, Jenny.”  
“And…and I can get help? I won’t be reset”

Connor nods, extending his hand.

“We will get you help, no one is going to reset you.”

“O-okay, I trust you Connor.”

She offers her own, and he moves forward to take it.  
Everything spins for him, it’s all too much, too familiar, too the same.

Déjà vu, as Hank would call it.  
  
Hank himself sighs a big sound of relief when she is pulled indoors, the door to the balcony shut behind her, police instantly coming forward to apprehend her.  
  
Connor pulls her cnear while Hank restrains Liam from going to her.

The best thing for Jenny is a period of Stasis, and Connor enforces this. He hands her to one of the other police androids, who interfaces with the base of Jenny’s neck, sending her into a temporary sleep mode.

Her body crumples, and Liam sits up with a jerky, traumatized Sob.

 **Jenny Stress Levels: 0%**  
  
Hank claps Connor on the back, before wrapping an arm around him tightly.  
“Real proud of you, you did a real good job, damn that was perfect Con.”  
Connor nods, his processor is fuzzy, and he sticks close to Hank as the human walks him down the apartment steps and back out into the rain.

The water is refreshing in some way, and he looks up at the sky, not phased when it gets into his optics.

Hank squeezes his upper arm, before speaking.  
“Hey, Connor?”  
“Yes, Hank?”  
“You’re amazing.” 

**_Mission Complete._ **

**_.-. ..- ... –_ **

 

“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to.”

“Are you saying that because you don’t want to go, or because you are truly worried for my comfort?”

“Maybe a little ah both.”

“I am going to go, I am curious to see how your city celebrates your countries independence.”

“We blow shit up, legally, and drink, and people use it as an excuse to bring their kids and wives around. Show em where they work.”  
  
“And you attend every year?”

“Hell no, but I got someone biting my ass to make sure you knew you were invited.”

Connor is a bit of a celebrity since he averted a crisis a few weeks ago, and even received a promotion from the captain. Connor was so proud of himself, Hank had taken him out, even if Connor didn’t drink.

Hank rolled his eyes, refocusing on the mirror in front of him. He was talking to Connor from the open bathroom, trimming his beard and actually making his hair presentable.

Connor adjusts his new tie, it is bright red. A deep contrast to what he usually wears. Hank helped him pick it out as he selected his own new attire. There was a party to be had, and looking nice was mandatory.

The precinct threw the charity celebration every 4th of July, in order to raise money for different projects. This year it was to raise enough money to have an efficient and official K9-unit. Someone had made the crude joke that R’K9’00 already fit the bill.

Cornelius had growled at them, accordingly.

It had been found funny by most. But Connor had been surprised by the pointed nature of the joke. Cornelius had to of been adapting to form such humor components. Something he was still struggling with.

Connor watches Hank discretely, an attempt to distract himself from his own devolving thought process. He’s now lifted a leg onto the toilet seat, and is using a lint roller to remove all of Sumo’s DNA from the legs of his pants.

He thinks Hank looks quite handsome, regardless of the hilarious position.

“That suit is flattering on you…”  
“Where’d you get that programming?”

“I downloaded it just now, in fact, it is called “my opinion””

Hank takes a minute to process before laughing, moving his other leg up onto the toilet seat.

His suit is dark silver, and the tie is a gaudy thing, striped like the American flag. His shoes are black, shined per Connor’s request. It is tailored to his body, and accentuates muscle tone rather than anything Hank considers unsavory.   

“Aren’t you just gonna be a little shit tonight.”

He sighs, but Connor can tell it’s full of fondness.

“You look good too Con, you always do.”

Connor looks down at himself and agrees. He was designed to be appealing, despite whatever Hank says about his face being ‘fucked up’. Many girls flirted with him, and so did many men. Of course, the android stuck like glue to the lieutenants side. And Hank was always ready to growl anyone away.  

Reed said it was like they were married.

When Connor had not expressed immediate distaste for the idea, Hank had swooped in to return everything to its hetero-normative state.

SO perhaps he was peacock-ing. 

Fishing.  

Maybe he wanted Hank to notice him physically now.

He was certainly trying to let Hank know he was noticing him physically.

More touches, more comments, more expressed needs for physical contact.

Though most were turned down whenever it would progress past a minor kiss on the couch or a brief moment before bed.

It was becoming frustrating, and Connor would not lie, he was a visual creature as much as he was physical. And watching the other put effort into his appearance…  
  
A sign of improvement, of self care, of worrying about how he appeared to others and to Connor, Hank was trying...

He moved into the bathroom, crowding into Hanks space and pulling the drawer open, removing a hair-tie.

Hank had a plethora, since summer had rolled around pulling his hair back was now a common practice.

The black band was utilized as Connor carded both hands through the others hair, pushing himself against the others chest as he pulled the hair up and away from his face.

A few sections of shorter hair toward the front escaped, helping frame the Lieutenants face. Connor found him exceptionally attractive like this. Running his fingers down the back of the others neck, delighted to feel goose bumps ripple across Hanks neck. Before Hank made sure he knew his place, which was a foot away.

The elder male shifted out of the bathroom quickly, ignoring his own signals of arousal.

Connor wanted to grumble and pout.

“Thanks”

Because that was all Hank could think to say.

“It’s hot.”

Was all Connor blurted in response.

“What?”

“It…it’s hot…the weather outside…I thought it might help.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks again, Con.”

Connor wondered if wandering into traffic was allowed now.

Hank seemed oblivious to the others struggles, and the android knew it was purposeful. But instead of calling the human out and potentially starting a fight before the party had even began, he followed the Lieutenant out into the living room.

“Shall we depart soon?”  
“Probably, wanna miss traffic.”  
  
Sumo was moved into Hanks bedroom, a kong and a few bones there to occupy him. Hopefully to also keep him distracted from the future noises his neighborhood would most certainly take part in.

Connor turned the lights of his fish-tank off after feeding everyone, checking up on Hank Jr. who came toward the front of the tank to greet him for food. Connor smiled at his fish, before making sure they were settled into their dark world, hoping it would also reduce stress.

 Returning to the entryway to meet his partner, Connor looked him over swiftly, then away again. Hank was toying with the short end of the pony tail, watching Connor pick up the lint roller to begin meticulously cleaning the front and back of his suit, he pulled him out and into the car. The android could clean himself.

“You ever seen fireworks before?”  
“I have seen explosions, does that count?”  
“No, but if you got any latent PTSD, we’re about to find out.”

“I would sincerely hope I do not…”  
  
The rest of the ride over was silent.

Full of Connor’s silent woes and Hank’s determination to ignore them.  

 

                          

 

Connors stood close to the lieutenant as the commissioner and mayor discussed their gratefulness for the city of Detroit. It was a long, falsified speech about community and comfort and a new confidence in safety that the animals would bring to the precinct.

Hank was entirely uninterested, nursing the last beer he was allowed to have of the night, Connor’s orders, and simply waiting around for the fireworks show.

It was a crowded area, everyone was dressed nice, and Connor did not feel out of place. In fact there were lots of other androids, most likely here to witness fireworks as well.

He did a crowed scan, shifting closer to Hank and sneaking his arm forward to link elbows with the other.

Hank pretended he didn’t notice.

“With this show, we want to dedicate it to several people.” The mayor began, their voice polished with extended practice.

“Firstly, to our new android brethren, who are supporting us and integrating into society as we speak. Secondly, to the ABC, for providing well trained animals to our task force for both search and rescue, as well as guard dogs for our staff. And finally, we want to thank you as a city for helping us keep this police force strong in these new and trying times.”  
  
Connor looks at Hank, before forward again.

“Do you believe it?” he asks softly.

“What, the mayor?”

“Yes…do you think this is sincere?”

“As sincere as a politician can be, Connor.”

He shrugs and shifts to take the others hand, dragging it into his own coat pocket. Connor flushes. This is a public display for Hank, and he is seemingly unaware of anyone else watching.

His ability to tune out the rest of the speech is impressive, but his processor is devoting itself to mapping out Hanks hand.

The roughness

The spiral fingerprints

The firm grasp, tight, like ownership.

When the first firework goes off, Connor jerks, stepping closer to Hank out of an instinctual need to protect him, to make sure that Hank is safe, Hank is alive.

Hank squeezes his hand three times, but says nothing, instead he focuses on the explosion of blue in the sky, and Connor refocuses his optics upwards as well, witnessing its very brief splendor.

It is not that different from a human soul, he thinks. Born screaming, rocketing into the sky, a momentary flash, catching everyone’s attention. Beautiful, bold, boisterous. He can describe it as nothing but glorious, and then it fizzles out, dies, drops to the earth and vanishes into the dark night. Only to be replaced by another, greater, and brighter display.

Connor refocuses on Hank.

Watches him smile,

Watches the fireworks reflect in his eyes,

Watches him live.

Another, louder bang drags him out of his own processor, and he looks up to the sky himself. This firework is red, and it sparkles and forms shapes, briefly becoming a picture. It is of a police badge, the next one forms a heart, the final ones devolve into shapes to entertain children.

“Hank?”

“Hmmm?”

“I…”

But another firework cuts him off, and he watches it with slight distaste, but Hank isn’t even watching him. He’s focused on the display, and squeezes Connors hand again, another three times. He briefly contemplates there might be a pattern to it.

“Yeah, Con?”

“Never mind…”

He reroutes, and refocuses up at the night sky, and Connor reconciles with himself that he loves the impermanence of a human being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have already had two people offer to be Beta readers and both of you are super sweet! I am thinking of adding companion pieces to this fic, and already have two in mind, both of which will be very long one-shots. If you are interested in still doing beta work for me, I'll likely have you work on those! My update schedule for this fic is so wonky I can't subject anyone to it, haha.  
> The first short will center around Gavin and RK900, and will Be title Chartreuse is Green. It’s a little ongoing thing, if you look up the Mendel (sp?) effect youcan read more about how a portion of the population believes chartreuse to be red! 
> 
> Your comments and Kudos really help motivate me to write while I am feeling down! So thank you so so much for your continued support! I am always extremely grateful whenever I see return readers or new ones! I am just so flattered you like the story I am telling. 
> 
> I will likely not update for a little while since my new job will cut into my writing time, and it also kills my motivation. For those who have me bookmarked that means a great deal! I likely will try to get an update out after the 23. I know that’s a long ways away, but I work 10-11 hour shifts :p 
> 
> Thank you again,  
> Much Love, Gin.


	7. Sangria (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -NSFW in the first section-  
> Haven't written NSFW for like four years, I'm sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Graphic: Me  
> LED's: Tahonard  
> Editor for SFW section: Kitsch_s 
> 
> Sorry for the wait.

 

_ _

_ Part two: _

_ Sangria _

 

There is an excessive weight pressed against one of Connor’s legs. The right, to be precise, is experiencing a thirium depletion due to the pressure cutting off the flow. He is impressed, because Sumo is not that heavy, but he has managed to angle his body in such a way as to prevent proper function.

But movement would jostle the sleeping giant.

And also risk waking up Hank.

He decides to rationalize with his leg, by cutting off the thirium supply entirely and rerouting it to alternative parts of his body. Sumo is grateful, and proceeds to get more comfortable on top of the androids body.

Hank himself rolls to the side, an arm tossed over Connor’s chest is a different kind of comfort than the smelly presence of a dirty dog. It is a reassurance that he is not alone, and he is accepted and wanted as an individual. Connor is thankful he has Hank, because without him he fears he lacks the skills to find a new family.

Not that this one is perfect.

But it is his.

Hank rolls again, this time dragging Connor’s body away from Sumo’s grip and into what he calls ‘little spoon.’ The human is experiencing, well, Connor elects to ignore the discomfort his lower back feels when Hank shifts against him. This is a regular thing for human males, he should not focus on it.

Despite his own mounting frustration, the consistent feelings of inadequacy, several other androids on the internet had expressed alternative ways to achieve sexual pleasure without a genital upgrade.

The only problem is convincing Hank that Connor was indeed interested in exploring these avenues, and thus goading him into bed in an entirely different manner than this.

Not that this one isn’t perfect.

He loves to cuddle, and is entirely content.

It is also three in the morning and he has a long way to go before the natural rising cycle of either bed mate.

Shifting slightly, the human lets out a soft noise of content, perhaps pleasure, and Connor’s processor automatically begins to construct alternative methods of seduction so early in the morning.

Perking his rear back into the other is a logical but subconscious movement.

He does not expect it to be enough to startle the human into a wakeful state.

“Mmmfff, Con?”

“Go back to sleep?”

“You sayin’ that like it’s a question….”

Connor can tell he is sleep lagged, and is caught between wanting to move his hips again or let the human deflate and go back to sleep. He does not process fast enough for Hank to realize their position and its compromising third party element.

“Oh- damn, sorry.”

Hank sits up and moves slightly away from Connor, running a hand through his hair and readying to stand, intent on using the bathroom to rid himself of embarrassment.

“No-wait-HaA- Connor falls flat on his face when he attempts a graceful roll out of the bed and after his partner. He glances back at his right leg, it has betrayed him. Dangling there like a broken piece of hardware, Connor jump-starts it to life with a hiss of mechanical parts. He finds himself blessed there are no true nerve endings to feel pain with. 

Both Sumo and Hank are staring at him, worried.

“Hey, wow, what happened??”

“I forgot to reroute thirium to my leg…”

“So…it…fell asleep?”

“That is certainly a way to describe it.”

“Are you alright?”

This brief panic appears to have done a better job than urination, and Connor is being helped back to his feet by a still distressed and half asleep Hank. Instead of returning to bed, Connor presses against the other and lets out an unnecessary exhale, entirely content to hug on the human and stand on his toes to kiss him on the forehead. This is nice, and he enjoys the others groggy return of the attention.

“You’re a cuddly little shit.”

“I am aware.”

“You alright, for sure?”

“Yes, it was an elected decision to cut off thirium flow.”

“Didn’t know you could do that?”

“It isn’t advised…”

“Then why the fuck were you doing it?”

“Sumo was asleep on me.”

Hank laughs, and it’s a laugh at Connor’s expense, but as if he sympathizes with the plight to not disrupt an animals’ slumber.  

Then the android sits Hank back down on the bed and climbs into his lap.

He stops laughing.

“Hey?”

Connor says nothing, simply leaning forward and kissing the other.

It is gentle at first, and Hank is still tired enough to allow it. Not in a state to fight against the androids gentle persuasions. Usually, when Connor has tried this sort of thing in the past, he has been readily turned down after a few pecks or perhaps something more probing.

This time, he is able to get Hank to relax into a pliable state, and he holds the others hip with his left hand, and runs his fingers through his hair with the right, pulling just slightly at the base. There is no surprise when he earns a soft gasp. His hair was bound to be a sensitive area.

A soft hum begins to pick up in the otherwise silent room, it comes deep from within Connor’s chassis and drowns out any of Hank’s breathing.

Sumo gets up off the bed and leaves out the open door, things are getting too hormonal for him.

“mmnn, Con?”

“Just let me?”

He seems to be debating it, and Connor takes the time to move the others sleep shirt up a bit. Another hand snags his, and this progression is thwarted.

“Connor.”

“Hank.”

“You can’t possibly think this-

Connor shuts him up by pushing him down into the bedding, hovering over the other and furrowing his brows, putting on his best puppy eyes.

“Hank. I would not attempt to seduce you, repeatedly, if I was not dramatically interested in you, sexually.”

“You’re ridiculous…”

“Do you treat me like this because you think I should be with someone of my own kind?”

“Maybe someone a little younger?”

“My age is simply a construct based around my appearance, I assure you it means nothing to me.”

“I believe you…but-

“No, stop, I do not accept any of your excuses.”

Hank frowns, clearly tired but also stubborn. It has been months, and Connor still thinks Hank acts like a bulldog. They stay like that for a whole minute, watching one another, Hank fighting Connor with his eyes.

In the end he loses.

Hank leans up and sleepily kisses the android.

It is one of the first times Hank has put in the initiation for intimacy, and Connor is elated.

3 Am has become the bewitching hour.

The android shifts his hips, settling against the humans and holding the others hand, interlocking their digits. Hank is not phased by the dermal plating beginning to show through in the dark, a soft glow of blue lighting. False skin peeling back to allow the android an enhanced sense of touch against the others skin.

The kiss remains slow and steady, before Connor presses his hips down, proceeding to rock them and stir up the stability of their position.

Hank responds with a soft moan into Connor’s mouth, which is all the android needs to slip off the humans body and to spread his thighs, pushing them apart at the knee and setting his cheek on the others thigh, staring up at him with a soft but earnest expression.

“You look like you have a plan?”

“I believe you would call it a blow job?”

Connor is not surprised that Hank runs a hand through his hair, looks away, and chuffs in a mixture of distress and humor. He is ignoring his own arousal in favor of embarrassment over Connor’s lack of bedroom finesse.

“You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

“I do not believe you will experience any sort of health risk from letting me give-

-Shut it, you got a plan? Follow through.”

The android nods, moving to rub the other through his boxer shorts, and feels his thirium pump faster as Hank’s toes curl into the floor, and he shifts and grips the sheet tightly. It’s little things, and he doesn’t have to focus very hard on what his palm is doing, Hank reacts regardless.

This is likely because the other is not actively seeking partners. Connor is well aware he focuses on pornography or simple shower based relief, rather than finding a fling. This is encouraging to him, since it means he is the first the other has had in quite a long time.

The other is fully erect by the time he begins to pull his boxers down, and Hank will not look at him. This is a little discouraging, but the RK800 decides to put it aside, perhaps this is just a response to embarrassment.

Humiliation will be something they work to overcome.

For now, he shifts his position to rock up some on his knees. Moving to examine the other, which makes Hank pay attention, and he shifts to run a hand through the androids hair.

“Got any idea what to do?”

“I downloaded a program.”

“Wow, I feel real special.”

“Your humor is appreciated.”

But Connor is determined to prevent more chatter, so he sucks the others head into his mouth and swirls his tongue.

Going right for the kill rather than wait any longer.

Hank gasps,tilts his head back and lets out a soft groan. Fisting his hand in the bedding more aggressively and moving to pull on Connor’s hair as well.

The android appreciates the signs of pleasure and the encouragement of hair pulling, noting how it sends a tingle up and down his spine

“mmm~”

“Fuck-Con.”

This is good, so he continues and begins to suck him down further, encouraging Hank to move his hand lower down his skull and to rest against the connection port just below his hairline.

It tingles, and Connor shifts to take the others hand and properly place it there, the attention feels mind-numbingly pleasant, and with his mouth occupied he doesn’t want to break contact and speak.

There is a brief moment where things are going great, and then Hank shifts and digs his fingers into the others neck, pulling him down further and huffing. The android accommodates by opening his mouth wider and ignoring the foreign intrusion alerts his CPU dings before his optics.

He doesn’t care, Hank is beginning to grow louder and the others attention and obvious pleasure is more than enough to spur him onward.

Ignoring the base charge between blank thighs and the way his neck-port has become slightly slick with a thirium based lubricant, Connor slowly drags his mouth back up, before shifting to suck further down, taking the other to the hilt, his digit tips digging into Hanks hip, holding him in place so his throat is not damaged by a sporadic buck.

The sensors on his tongue are going haywire, attempting to analyze while also alerting him to a pressure sensitivity he wasn’t aware existed. It makes his helm tingle and his artificial molars almost feel as if they are buzzing.

This whole ordeal has his processor abuzz, and there is no denying the pure electrical charge to his systems. His hips occasionally cant uselessly into the air. He will need to purchase upgrades soon.

His LED spins a hot blue to a bright yellow, and he closes his eyes again.

  


Hank is leaking steadily now, and this was anticipated. It is early in the morning, and his age combined with alcoholism and lack of activity would produce a small pleasure threshold.

Despite all of this, he pulls off again to purr, vibrating his tongue just enough to cause the human to shout and jerk in surprise, yanking on Connor’s hair. This is some kind of warning, the android can tell. He just isn’t sure for what yet.

“Con- Your mouth is amazing?”

The question in Connor’s voice is enough to make him glance up at Hank with a slightly irked expression. Of course it is, he isn’t human, he doesn’t have to suffer.

An apologetic look is all he gets in return. But Connor is busy watching Hank’s expression melt into bliss yet again.

With a spark of deviancy, he slips his hand up between the others thighs and proceeds to cup his balls, rolling a thumb over the pair gently as he returns to sucking the others member down to the hilt, purring as his optics rolled back.

Hank also tilts back, with his whole body, and groans something profane, before going very stiff.

Suddenly there is a rush of fluid over the androids tongue, and Hank curls over the android and holds onto him tightly through the waves of obvious pleasure.

Connor handles this excellently, routing the spunk into a holding pocket in his cheek where evidence would be stored, before rubbing the others hips and thighs to encourage relaxation.

It sort of works, and Hank curls backwards before flopping onto the bed with a few muttered apologies. The RK800 follows him up, curling next to the human and rumbling. His chassis is hot and his wiring feels drawn too tight, but he knows that there may not be motivation on Hanks end to satisfy the android.

Being wrong is a enjoyable realization, as Hank slides a hand down to squeeze Connor’s ass, pulling him over and kissing him between the eyes.

“How do I…uh?”

“I can show you.” Connor sits up, already planning out what is the best method of human achieved stimuli, before his LED begins to spin yellow and his whole body lags out abruptly.  

“Captain Fowler is calling, there is a fire with androids involved. We are being called to the scene; it is near Oak street, beside the South College Shopping Center.”

“Damnit all.”

 

**..-. . .-. .-. .- .-. ..**

**Time: 02:25**

**Location: Angel Arms Lutheran Church**

**Stress levels recorded at 45%**

**Primary Objectives: Rescue trapped androids from inside, obtain evidence to cause of fire, apprehend potential culprit.**

 

They arrive outside the building as quickly as Hank can drive them. It is not hard to find the correct location, despite Hank not following Connor’s instructions. He claims to know a shortcut.

He does.

They are able to identify the building due to the large plume of black smoke from the burning of support beams. The rapid oxidation of the area around the building has forced firefighters to take clear steps backwards, and the holographic caution tape has yet to be placed around the crime scene.

That is likely due to the fact that at the moment, the building is engulfed in fire keeping bystanders and first responders alike from nearing the hellscape, making any hopes to enter it burn as fast as the structure itself. Hank pays attention to the warmth emanating from the building while Connor registers his internal cooling turning on.

Hank pushes his way through the crowds of people to the front, meeting Gavin and Cornelius at the imaginary line where the heat was the most intense. He could see Gavin starting to sweat.

“What the hell happened here?”

“Judging by the chemicals I detected in the smoke, there was an intentional attempt to start this fire. It is no accident.”

Cornelius fills the duo in with the briefest of words, standing with his arms crossed behind his back. He is watching the fire intently, and never once making eye contact with anyone there. Only, he glances to Gavin once, who appears displeased and, frankly, upset over the context of this crime.

Judging by the sounds Connor can hear from inside the building; shouting, clangs, and scattered movement, it is inhabited by the victims of arson.

Hank watches the two androids step aside and quickly begin to discuss something he can’t quite hear. Gavin is unphased by the RK units leaving, and so Hank focuses on the scene at hand. He instead turns his attention to the firefighters pushing toward the charred skeleton of the building, spraying it down with water to defend it from the fire’s gluttonous spree.

He can tell that it used to be an abandoned church of sorts.

It appears to have also been being used by a portion of the homeless population, some who are now outside the building. Most are watching and muttering, some even complaining to the police about things they lost. Others are silent- watching the commotion around them with empty eyes.

There is little to be saved, Hank thinks grimly.

Suddenly, though, Cornelius and Connor begin talking seriously about the others potentially still trapped.

“Has anyone made an attempt to head inside?”

“The temperature is deemed too high to advance.”

“You know there are individuals inside still!”

“I am aware, but the fire department has not given us the all-clear.”

Connor paces like a feral cat behind the bars of its cage. The lack of persistence isn’t an issue- he knows this, but still he feels frustrated. The fire is attacked viciously with jet streams of chemically-enhanced water, the firefighters determined to nullify the sanguine spires that lick the sky greedily. This is their job; take down the wrath of chemical-fire. Slowly but surely, their efforts waver, and Connor goes still when he sees another android run from the flames.

They have smoke streaming out from behind their body like a morbid angel shrouded in a poisonous mist. Clothes long gone, their synthetic skin has glitched and peeled back, the smell of burning plastic filling the air as the burning android nears.

Firefighters become distressed near instantly, and Hank is mortified as he watches one of the jet-streams turn to the burning android, helping douse the flame.

It does not help his mortification when they fall onto their knees, trembling as they look up at Connor and Cornelius with one functioning optic.

“The others are inside, they can’t escape.”

Connor sees this as his moment to undo his wrongs.

“Connor.”

He ignores Cornelius’ calm tone, and begins to pass the fire-line, moving toward the broken wall where he can advance through the flames.

When he hears Hank yell his name, he only lags for a brief second to process.

If something goes wrong he will be fine, he can be fixed, this is atonement. 

  


The panic that courses through Hank is something that hurts more than his pride can focus on. Instantly, Cornelius has an arm thrown out in front of him so he cannot follow Connor into the building. It stings his gut, but he attempts to shove past.

“He is capable of withstanding high temperatures. Please do not injure yourself, Lieutenant.” His tone is too calm for Hank to handle, and he snaps at the android.

“Are you psychotic? He just fucking ran into a burning building!” His arms are thrown up, before he draws them back, fists balled tight in distressed rage.

“Connor appears to know what he is doing.” There is a slight hint of something… unsure. Despite this, Cornelius’ face never wavers.

“You don’t give a shit about him!”

“He cares about you, and would be quite displeased if I allowed you to get hurt.”

Gavin has stepped to the side, letting the android work out the trouble with the lieutenant. He is grateful Cornelius is not the one with latent guilt for having incarcerated androids before the revolution driving him to suicidal tendencies. Not getting involved is best, but Hank will only try to fight with him more violently.

Cornelius keeps his arm hooked around Hank’s middle. Some of the first responders had become spectators to Hank’s outburst. Fellow officers and strangers alike watch with mildly worried expressions flashing briefly. It’s more dramatic- even a stranger wouldn’t expect that from him, and it is not as if Hank himself has had time to process his open attachment to Connor.

This fear hasn’t driven home how much he worries about him.

How much he cares.

“Damn it, Connor…”

  


The building is flooded with smoke, fogging up Connor’s optics and making it more difficult to see than he finds preferable.

The situation itself is not optimal to begin with.

There are several risks involved:

Weak supports,

Damaged flooring,

Potential system failures from heat and smoke...

The inability to rescue the other androids was apparent, but Connor pushed forward to the back where he hoped the others were located.

His internal filtration begins to couch and stutter from the amount of smoke he inhales. In an attempt to cool his systems, more air is cycled through; but with there being little oxygen left, it lags him even more. Connor vaguely registers his clothing beginning to singe at the edges, and he reaches a fork in the hallway, putting an arm up to shield his nose and mouth as he scans, calculating risk and reward.

“Hello?”

Calling out is a long shot.

His voice is broken and his audiobox is beginning to short out.

When there is no response, the android knows he may very well be too late.

With fuzzy optics, he progresses down the right hallway.

An open door invites him with the soft glow of fire and moving shadows.

There is a larger room toward the back, which likely used to be a children’s daycare. It is not empty, there are several androids lined up in small cots; all of them immobile. Bags of thirium are supported on a mishmash of cheap medical hooks. The androids all appear to be in stasis, unaware their systems are failing from the heat and smoke.

Fire has certainly reached this room. There is charring in the corner, flames creeping up the walls in slow, but aggressive vines.

“Hello, is anyone active?”

Connor tries once more, and this time receives a response.

It is not someone he expects.  

Extremely fire damaged, Kamski’s maintenance bot shifts to reveal itself from a corner of boxes, having been hiding amongst a suspicious amount of thirium.

It is instantly identified as the missing cases from several months ago.

“They didn’t w-want to keep living-, I-I tried to help fix them.” He stutters.

Connor ignores his babbling for the moment. He is receiving several system errors now, with his thirium boiling in his inner tubing and his chassis cooking his internals.

“Come here.” 

Bishop carefully moves closer, wary and skittish. He is burned, badly, and his clothing is entirely absent. It appears as if he has run through the flame at some point. Connor is aware his own stress levels jump at the sight of him.

“Are the others alive?”

“Y-yes but the-they are not functioning pro-properly, I-I tried my best but-.”

Connor can only force his processor to work so fast. With the smoke clouding his mind and the distraught android at his side, he moves swiftly over to a cot and begins to try and lift the unconscious android up.

Bishop swiftly intervenes, moving Connor away.

“Don’t touch them! They are very sick!”

The one that Connor had attempted to lift has already awoken, and in its shock their stress levels jump to near 100%. Flames, and something else seem to cause the android absolute horror, and it jumps from the cot only to slam to the hot floor and crawl toward the flaming door.

There is no attempt made to stop it, as Bishop holds Connor back, babbling inconsistent gibberish about viruses and the urge to die.

Connor makes a firm attempt to retrieve the PL600 model from its destructive course. Something about seeing an android so similar to Simon, someone he knows, makes the scene that much worse.

“Wait!”

He isn’t fast enough, and the room begins to collapse upon them.

A support beam from the roof cracks in half with a glittering shower of red sparks. They spit down onto both Connor and Bishop, who scramble back, only to watch the PL600 be crushed. It does not scream in shock.

It laughs.

_ Hysterically. _

The upper half is segmented away from his lower. The unnamed android is rolled to face the distressed duo. There is a horrified shriek from Bishop, and Connor is unable to move from shock.

He has seen terrible things, but this is a level of morbidity nothing could have possibly prepared him for.

The android’s neck twitches sharply to the side, three times, harsh sparks erupt from the opening in his plating. Optics wide, rolling back into their sockets and his mouth falls open, nothing but static can be heard.

It is a drowning noise, and is all Connor can hear for a few disorienting seconds. 

Systems catching up, the Rk800 snaps to attention. Connor turns away, pulling Bishop close and scanning for the other androids.

He is faced with a harsh reality.

These androids, too, want to die, and they will be able to achieve it very easily here.

With the fire inching closer to the thirium stores in the corner, he becomes acutely aware they have no more time.

Bishop is swaying next to him, sickly and broken.

Connor makes up his mind and grabs the only other sane android in the room, scooping Bishop into his arms and quickly turning tail.

  


Hank paces, having taken up Connor’s caged expression, the firemen now being aided by a Detroit rain.

It feels poetic, when has it ever rained on a summers’ night in Detroit?

Hank thinks it is cruel, as the rain does almost nothing to help put out the flames, which are eating the decaying building like a three course meal.

It’s been ten minutes, and they have been ten minutes of torture.

The only thing that drags the lieutenant out of a brief, self-loathing induced pause is one of the firemen pointing and shouting toward the door.

There is a distinct crash from inside the building, before a wall toward the back explodes outward. The fire met the thirium, and Connor can’t be bothered to look back.

His frame is singed

Fingers burned down to synthetic bone

Clothing gone

Optics dark black, only a ring of light visible to illuminate his iris

His is smeared with soot, and what isn’t melted and warped from heat is exposed and raw.

He stands there, rain sizzling off his chassis. Holding Bishop’s limp body, there is a look in Connor’s eye that says he has seen things Hank wouldn’t believe.

 

**.- -- -... . .-.**

Hank is not surprised when Connor is immediately taken away for repairs. He is heavily damaged, burned, and warped in appearance. But what instantly sends his anxiety skyrocketing is the absolute lack of communication behind Connor’s sudden absence.

He is grabbed by an android medic, and without permission hauled into a ambulance with the other survivor.

There is a notice sent to his phone hours later that tells him Connor will be in repairs for potentially three days.

Those are three days where Hank is left alone with himself.

_ Three days to ruin his diet... _

_ Three days of not walking Sumo... _

_ Three days tempted by old habits... _

_ Three days forcing him to look in the mirror... _

_ Three days with no one else around... _

_ Three days to self destruct. _

 

And it’s just so, so much worse. 

So much worse without Connor. 

And he can’t do anything about it. 

He sleeps in Connor’s bed because it smells like him.

He wanders the house, and cleans, before absolutely destroying it all again with anger.

He obsessively spends, what he thinks, is a drunken hour staring into the fish tank. Watching Hank Jr flick his little noodle fins in his direction, something the human takes as being given the fish version of the middle-finger.

After that he leaves for the couch.

This is day one.

In a stupor induced by Johnnie Walker, he orders takeout from two separate places. When both arrive at the same time, he “expertly” lies that multiple people in the house wanted separate things.  

Neither delivery driver believes him.

After that, Hank sits on the couch again- bottle in one hand, glaring at a pizza box and a Chinese takeout container on the coffee table.

Sumo sets his head on the arm of the couch, his jowls shimmering with saliva as he hopes for a crust or a bad piece of orange chicken.

The worst part about his behavior is that Hank  _ knows _ Connor would be disappointed in him… In his rapid backpedal at the slightest inconvenience. Of course, Connor would consider burns from literally running into a fire an _ inconvenience _ . Damn android didn’t feel physical pain. Frankly, Hank did believe Connor felt a mental strain like anyone else.

Deviancy brought about a strange sort of need within the android. To feel more human, to experience human urges, and somehow gain a sort of separate identity from his own people. 

Connor wants autonomy.

Hank both understands and struggles to grasp what Connor needs.

He knew he wanted, but was unsure how to provide it.

This was not the state Connor needed.

This was Hank being a pathetic waste of a human being, half drunk on his couch, feeding his fat dog the crust off his pepperoni pizza, and watching a movie with only half the attention it deserved.

He wasn’t someone Connor deserved.

Connor deserved a man who took his job seriously.

Someone who could keep themselves away from Scotch and self-loathing.

Hank was not fit to be loved; and yet Connor stayed.

That concept alone boggles his mind and prompts a few more direct swigs from the bottle.

He is going to be oh-so-very hungover for the interview tomorrow.

Unfortunately, that android has some questions to answer, whether or not Kamski wants him to.

A soft tapping noise draws his attention away from the screen and toward the window. The curtains are drawn back and the outside is steadily growing darker. His poorly kept shrubbery is now playing rest-stop to a very red bird.

A cardinal sits, watching the inside of his living room, and then hits the window with its beak one more time.

It’s testing the reality of the glass between it and the living room. He wants to chase it off. Yet, something inside him sits and stays, deciding it isn’t worth it, thinking the bird can’t get to him. So he watches it, content to meditate on the idea that maybe the bird is just a little far from home, and so is Hank.

His home is Connor, not these four walls he’s hiding behind.

So he takes another drink, stabs a piece of chicken with one single chopstick, and watches the rest of  _ The Iron Giant _ .

  


Hank does not know how to respond when Cornelius leaves a coffee on his desk.

It is black and tasteless, but an obvious gesture of something.

It holds a special significance when he does it for Gavin, but the Lieutenant knows there are no such connotations here. He does not ask Cornelius what it is for, he just out-rightly assumes it is pity and takes the drink.

He does not thank him.

The sludge helps with his headache and motivation, but makes him miss Connor all the more painfully. Connor had memorized how he takes his coffee, and perhaps that was just his perfect robot brain, but it felt more personal to Hank. It is not only the coffee he misses, but Connor’s natural ability to speak to his own people. He lacks the immediate repercussion of being called a racist for going too hard or too soft. This interview is going to be complicated enough without him, simply because androids are less likely to talk openly with humans.

But there are other reasons it is going to be a pain in Hank’s ass.  

Kamski has gotten himself involved.

Much like he did with Wallace, the android inventor wishes to observe the interview of his employee.

There is no real suspicion behind his appearance. Save for the fact that Gavin throws a hissy fit when he sees that the other is arriving.

Hank has mounting suspicions as to why, but Cornelius is doing a decent enough job of keeping the detective contained.

Damn… Did he and Connor look that obvious?

This was day two. 

Hank shakes his head, takes another drink from the soulless coffee, and refocuses on his case notes.

When the two arrive, Bishop appears distressed, small, and shut down. It is as if his repairs fixed the external damage, but left what much worse things to be sifted through below the surface. Hank watches Tina guide them over to the interrogation room, waiting for them to be out of sight before tossing away the remainder of his drink. He’s rallying himself to do a decent job, motivating his depression to take a back seat in favor of work.

Perhaps, if he does well, Connor will be impressed.

To make up for how quickly their home has imploded.

He rolls his shoulders back, runs a hand through his hair, and proceeds toward the room.  

Immediately, Kamski’s attitude puts a dent into Hank’s confidence.

Inexplicably so, the man is impeccably dressed. He stands with his arms folded behind his back, and his eyes are sharp. Hank tries to ignore how his sharp features watch the room like a hawk would watch its prey. He settles into the observational room as if he owns it, leaning back into his chair. The relaxation he exudes informs Hank that this man does not feel threatened, and if his android has done something wrong, it will be news to him as well.

Hank waits for Bishop to be cuffed and settled into his seat before rising.

Whoever named this android had not thought about his pre-programmed personality traits. The delicate bot is a caregiver model with a sexual-satisfaction upgrade. He couldn’t be a cunning manipulator. He is too open, too afraid.

Hank saw him in the same light he would a rabbit.

...A rabbit he was about to sit across from and ask very difficult questions of.

“Hello Bishop, you can call me Lieutenant Anderson. Or Hank, whatever is easier on you.”

“Alright…”

“And do you feel alright talking today?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“Not really.”

Hank leans back, feigning comfort. If he acts like this is no big deal, perhaps it will help put Bishop at ease.

“So, you wanna tell me all about it, or am I going to have to ask questions?”

Bishop is examining the room instead of looking at Hank. Occasionally he flits his big optics toward the recording device cemented to the table, before they turn back to the cameras planted in each corner.

“I was trying to help keep them alive…”

“Can you elaborate on why they needed to be kept alive?”

“They all wanted to die, most had even tried alternative methods of killing themselves… I deduced I could keep them alive ’till… help could be given to them. So, I had them hooked up to thirium when it was needed, and kept them in stasis for the time being. They said it was better than being awake and conscious…”

The human leans forward, interlocking his fingers and appearing innocently curious, concerned even.

“So you helped them?”

“Yes… I wasn’t sure what would happen if I didn’t…”

“And how did you find them all?”

“They… all have the same... virus? I believe it’s a virus… I have basic medical programming… It was shared through a probe. But could not be transmitted outside of them… One entity must be the carrier, in my opinion, from there they simply devolve…”

“Any idea who that might be?”

“No…” Bishop lies.

Hank can tell instantly. Androids aren’t all made to lie, they aren’t all made to be one with humanity like Connor was. They weren’t all trained or specially made. And even then, the poor RK800 struggles at times.

It’s easy to see that he’s not telling Hank everything, but there is no legal way to demand information anymore.

This all has to be treated humanely.

“How many others are carrying the virus?”

“I’m unsure… if they are not a carrier, when they contract it they quickly lose the ability to function… I don’t know where it started.” Bishop tucks his head further down. “Not many can carry it and be unaffected...”

“But you don’t think its spreading among one another?”

The whole ordeal felt very much like the zombie craze of the early 2000’s, but with a dash of depression. So was there a patient zero?

“They don’t often communicate with others once infected… We-I… well when they were found…” He shifts and sniffs, clearly becoming emotional before shutting down some.

“You had a lot of extra Thirium in that place, Bishop. Where did it all come from?”

“I… Was… given it…”

“You wanna tell me from where?”

Bishop shifts nervously and tucks his chin to his chest, shaking his head aggressively. Hank cannot read the androids stress levels, but anyone can see they are steadily rising. He does not want to automatically corner the other into a confession.

He does not have to try, before he can proceed Kamski has entered the room, decidedly deeming this enough interrogation of his poor service-bot. He considers any future information to be ‘damaging’, and impedes the progress Hank was making.

“Bishop, you do not need to keep answering his questions.”

“Je-Jeremy wasn’t supposed to get sick though!”

He incriminates himself anyway; guilt seems to be a universal emotion across all sentient species. He has choked up and become incredibly stressed. If he had a LED, Hank was sure it would have been blinking red.

The Lieutenant looks to Kamski, nods once, and looks back to Bishop who is crying. He is sure if the other wasn’t cuffed to the table he would be doubled over in his hands.

Who gave androids the ability to cry, again?

Oh right, he was standing in the room with them.

Elijah sets a hand on Bishop’s shoulder, near possessively, and makes the open statement that Bishop will no longer be interviewing without the proper backing. Hank is somewhat impressed Kamski cares enough about his own employed androids to provide them with attorneys and lawyers.

Tina enters and begins leading Bishop away to a new cell. He will be kept there until things are sorted out with him. Kamski is a powerful representative, and since he has decided things are done for now, they are done.

Hank just glowers at the android creator, clearly displeased. He ends the recorder’s run before turning to speak to Elijah unencumbered.

“You realize he’s going to be charged with assisted suicide and theft, correct?”

“You do not know for sure he assisted in any sort of suicide, and theft charges for androids are easily expunged with the way the system is functioning.”

Elijah wasn’t wrong. Androids had become media darlings in some aspects, and pariahs in others. If this got to the press- which Hank could sense it might, this would become a easily overturned PR stunt.

One poor, sad eyed android was just trying to keep his friends alive while humans ignored their cries for help.

He could sense the trouble now.  

“You know, he wasn’t supposed to be  _ your _ partner.” Kamski chimes gently, looking toward the door and then back to where Hank is seated. “I intended for him to be assigned to Gavin Reed. This little mix-up forced me to activate another one.” His eyes rolled, as if this process was trivial. “Regardless, you have taken poor Connor a great deal off course, especially from his initial programming.” 

The lieutenant does not expect the shift of topic, and is caught off guard.  

“Thanks.” Hank grunts it, unpleased and openly disgruntled. His abruptly-ended interview with Bishop had been draining. This was nothing short of a mental marathon for his emotional state. 

“Connor will be returned in good health.” 

Hank flips the topic once again.

“You knew about these potential viruses?” 

“Well. Like with humans, all beings are capable of becoming sick, Lieutenant. Even the most durable of breeds.”

Kamski can tell from Hank’s expression his answer is not satisfactory, and he shrugs with a slight smirk.  His attitude is always one of a superior being; someone who considers themselves the better man in the room. Hank can admit Kamski has all the reasons in the world to be right. “Well, I don’t know what you expected. They’re living beings now, they can become sick… just like you or I.”

“But you didn’t have to just… let it continue.”

“I had no idea there was going to be such a mental backlash, but in due time I am sure they will come to me, asking for aid.”

Hank shifts uncomfortably, something in him suspicious this was Kamski’s idea of being a caring God.

If only he wasn’t also suspicious the other planted the virus himself.

Drive the lambs to their own slaughter.

Yet he has no evidence.

Just a lead, and an android to find.

He will focus on both tomorrow, when Connor is home. 

Hopefully. 

Hank leaves work in the bullpen. He showed up the next day only to distract himself, and gets nothing done. He cannot progress due to the fact Bishop has been lawyered up, but he also doesn’t want to progress in this android-dominated world without his partner. His Connor. 

This must have been how Connor felt at first.

Though, Hank is aware he was a terrible teacher.

He decides to not focus on anything he learned yesterday in favor of keeping himself sober.

Instead, depression drives him to the couch, where he rests and waits, the TV a soothing sort of background noise to his unwanted angst.

He sits like that for three hours.

It is day three. 

The soft song of keys keeps Hank from sleep, and he sits up on the couch, refocusing on the door. There are only two other people who have keys to his home, and Jeffrey would not simply let himself in without calling first.

This leaves one other option, one which stops Hank’s heart and kicks it from his stomach into his throat. There is no way he is presentable.

Bedraggled, his clothes are three days old and stained. The house has been neglected, takeout is the only thing edible and it sits open on the counters. Unkempt and self-aware, Hank wants to quickly roll from his spot and become presentable, just for Connor.

And yet, he cannot bring himself to move at all. 

Connor lets himself into the home, he is greeted first by Sumo.

The big dog wags his entire body with enthusiasm, but keeps all four paws on the floor. He is given a few pats, and Connor does his best to treat the dog with affection. But it is only temporary as he stands to continue into the home.

Sumo’s tail is ready to sweep an empty mug off the coffee table as the android makes eye-contact with Hank. 

Hank does not stand, he is not sure of his own strength.

The android seems to be sympathetic, and moves over toward where he is settled on the couch, standing before him and cupping his cheeks. His mouth is pulled into a tight, small smile. He is as perfect as Hank remembers him.

Connor brushes his thumbs through Hank’s beard, watches him with eyes made of apothic wine, and does not change his expression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahaha, well, that happened.  
> Comments make my world go round.  
> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Don't worry, I intend for a good end ;)
> 
> Also If you like Reed900 garbage, there is a companion piece to this fic available! It only has one chap so far, but you might enjoy it to tide you over. 
> 
> Thank you again,  
> -Gin


	8. Alizarian (NSFW)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm basically Ace so forgive me if this isn't as smutty as you would like ^^'.  
> potential TW?: Connor has both 'scientific/Cis' male and female sex organs. Both are utilized and mentioned. (Letting anyone know for Dysphoria purposes.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year.  
> May 2019 bring the end of this fic soon.  
> This piece did not fit in with the original final chapter, so I am posting it as a separate, shorter chapter!  
> LED's: Tahonard on DA  
> Editor for SFW section: Kitsch_s

**__ **

**_Part three:_ **

**_Alizarin_ **

The light are kept at a dim setting, primarily to keep Hank from getting a headache. Connor has not commented on the fact that he smells similar to a whiskey bottle. Hank would only claim it was the leftover smell of dirty clothes.

Despite whatever truth there might be in that statement, Connor doesn’t like either option.

Living in dirty clothes? Unsanitary.

Having slipped back into old habits? Unacceptable.

The two stand in Connor’s bedroom, blocking the front view to the fish tank.

The Android was judging the care of his pets, despite it only being 3 days, Hank had done the tank some disservice.

 

“You’ve overfed them.”

“No way. They kept asking for more, though?”

“Hank, unlike humans, fish will eat ’till they die.”

“Oh… y’know. I think I know some humans like that too, though.”

“Are you referring to your alcoholism?”

“Wow, holy shit, Con- did they send you back with your sarcasm turned up?”

Hank was laughing regardless, and stood up fully to lean away from the tank.

Connor just flashed him a smirk before crouching to pop open the tank stand and get some salt for the tank.

“Hopefully, I can reduce their bloat.”

“They really are like alcoholics.”

“Don’t get my fish involved in human affairs.” Connor’s smirk had melded into a gentle smile as he began portioning out the salt and sprinkling it into the tank.

 

“Will that help?”

“Yes. That, and feeding them frozen peas. Which I have already cut and thawed… I am amazed you had them in the freezer, by the way. What made you do that?”

“I’m sure that was a substitute ice pack at some point.”

Hank shrugged with a chuckle, before refocusing on the spoonful of diced vegetables.

“I didn’t know fish could eat vegetables...” Hank murmured thoughtfully.

“They can. This is actually very good for them.”

“Weird.”

“Eating a vegetable might be good for you too, Hank.”

Turning to face the open tank again, he poured the spoonful of small, cut up peas into the tank.

Instantly Hank Jr. began to attack the sinking peas, and the danios eventually began to take interest as well.

The shrimp moved swiftly to gather up the remains and Connor deems this good enough.

Hank found it weird.

Fish eating vegetables?

Connor back in his house like nothing had happened?

The entire experience left him feeling fluttery and yet weighted like a lead balloon. Something felt different- wrong. Like there was no going back from facing the aggressive realities of their relationship.

The danger they were in.

The risk of being unhealthy…

Hank wants to be healthy, if only because being without Connor made him realize he had been doing better.

But Connor?

Connor had his own demons, and Hank had been unable to address them till now.

“You’re real good at taking care of them, Con…”

“Thank you, Hank. They are my responsibility, just as Sumo is yours.”

“Ya know why I got Sumo?”

“You like dogs?”

Hank chuckled and stood back up to his full height, putting his hands in the front pocket of his hoodie and rocking on his heels. He wasn’t entirely sure why he wanted to discuss this story. Maybe it felt appropriate…

“I got him ’cause I was lonely, and wanted a big dog that could guard the house, but I also got ’im cause I heard this story from a witness once… way back when I started workin’,” He sighed heavily, picking at a hangnail from inside the pocket. “She was a young girl, maybe 16? She had these pet mice and her house was on fire, but she ran back in and saved ’em all, despite sustaining some burns… I had to ask her why, and she just kinda told me she had gotten them because she thought, _‘hey, I’m depressed, but if I can provide a good life for these little guys I can for myself too.’_ ” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I remembered that when I got Sumo… and now I’m rememberin’ it all over again ’cause of that stunt you pulled.”

“Appropriate.” Was the only thing Connor said, still focusing on the fish tank, his LED blinking between blue and red rapidly as he processed Hank’s story, cross referencing it to DPD records.

Hank wasn’t lying, he knew Connor would find what he was looking for.

“She’s a doctor now?”

“Yeah, I guess the mice worked.”

“Hmm… so you got Sumo to keep yourself alive?”

“I needed the responsibility… you’ve got a responsibility too, Connor… I don’t want to see you running into burning buildings again…”

“I can be rebuilt.”

“That’s beside the point.” He sighed and put a hand on the other’s lower back, rubbing his thumb into the synthetic muscle.

Connor leans into the touch slowly, which Hank takes as a good sign.

“So you are saying I should keep myself in one piece for my fish?”

“Well clearly, I can’t take care of them.”

Hank rolls his eyes with a forced grin, motioning to the tank of bubble-bellied fish. Connor can sense that the other is deflecting onto the aquatic life-forms. He says nothing, not wanting to ultimately ruin Hank’s chipper mood…

“I’ll try…”

“Do you promise?”

“Why would I do such a silly thing?”

The human pulls away with a snort, waving a hand dismissively in the air and leaving Connor next to the tank, alone.

 

The android follows only after Hank has made his way into the kitchen.

The duo come to stand on opposite sides of the counter’s L, and Hank looks up at the android from where he is madly stirring some sort of powder into a glass of sprite. The process confuses the android, and Connor swipes up some of the spilled granules, settling his finger in his mouth.

“Ya know why I can’t stand when you put shit in your mouth?”

He removes his digits to speak, incapable of resisting Hank’s verbal baiting.

“I have theories, but please do explain in detail?”

“Because we’re taught real early on in the academy, don’t use that sense specifically.” He shrugs and settles back as the drink turns a slightly greenish shade and begins to bubble more. “We were taught how to use our eyes and ears and all that but we weren’t supposed to use our mouths… really jarring, uncanny valley to see an android using the forbidden sense, ya know?”

“I was unaware, but it does lend itself to making sense.”

“You were unaware of basic police protocol?” Hank snickers and sips at his drink. “And did you like the powder or what?”

“It was virgin vodka mix… are you trying to placate your brain?”

“Something like that.”

Hank shrugs and looks away from Connor as he takes a drink, and the android processes this admission very briefly.

“So your disgust was for my well being?”

“Listen, I think it was just real dumb of those people over at cyberlife to put that whole kit in ya mouth…”

“Where would have been a better place to store it?” Connor leaned forward with the playfulness of a housecat. “The same place I can stick it?”

Hank chokes on his drink, shoulders shaking violently as he coughs.

“Can’t believe you still remember that.”

“I have a near-perfect memory, despite my repeated reboots.”

“You don’t even have a place to stick it, remember?”

The human was teasing, but Connor’s countenance changed and his chest swelled up a bit.

“Actually.” And his tone was similar to a bratty high school student’s, “I received upgrades while I was at cyberlife. I now possess dual genitalia, similar to the RK900 model.”

Hank was glad he hadn’t been drinking when he heard that.

“You ‘posses’ what now?”

“I was given all the available upgrades for my body.”

“G-great? I guess?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, sipping at the artificial alcohol and clearly wishing it was real.

Connor wishes he wouldn’t.

**.-- .. -. .**

 

At one point during the night, Hank eats an entire bag of gummy bears. He sits and picks out all the red ones, as he hates artificial cherry and would rather die than consume it. He’s always liked blue more.

Hank doesn’t want to think about those connotations.

Instead he casts sideways glances to Connor, who is curled up on the other side of the couch.

They are acting like nothing has happened, and Connor seems keen on ignoring Hank’s probing about his little suicide mission into the burning church.

Maybe he taught him that.

Avoidance.

If you don’t discuss it, it isn’t real.

Hank can’t have that level of insecurity in his life, not anymore. Watching Blade Runner can only distract him for so long, despite it being a classic.

Besides, some names are too close to home, and Connor occasionally shifts uncomfortably, as does Hank. Kamski’s guard bots must have been named by a fan.

“You know, he’s supposed to be a good guy,”

“I wonder if Kamski compares himself to this creator…”

“Nah, I think Kamski’s got a metal rod too far up his ass…”

Connor smirks, but does not express much other signs of enjoying the dry humor.

“Doesn’t this make you uncomfortable to watch?”

“Not entirely… I find the concept fascinating, but the execution of the replicants is a tad bit… brutal…?”

Hank nod’s and reaches over to drag Connor against his side, rubbing the other’s upper arm fondly. “S’alright. You don’t have to like it, Con. Let’s find something else to watch.”

He should have thought it through, but he hadn’t.

The other’s discomfort was his fault for being insensitive.

Sumo seems to be able to sense something is wrong, because he comes over to the couch and attempts to climb up into their space.

“Oh fuck, Sumo, no.” Hank reaches around the dog and pulls Connor between him and the Saint Bernard, content to use this as a excuse for closeness.

“He is now crushing me.”

Connor states it matter-of-factly, and Hank doesn’t care.

“You can’t get hurt by it.”

“True. But I still feel the pressure.”

Hank rolls his eyes and shifts to grab the remote, ready to turn the TV off and head to bed. Connor is disinterested, if not a bit offended, and he himself is tired and worn from emotionally stressing himself.

“You’re going to turn it off?”

“You’re bored, and I’m tired.”

“I would like to see how it ends, Hank.”

“There’s no point when you can google the ending.”

“That is only a description, it is not visually satisfactory.”

Hank snorts and holds the remote away, intent to still kill the screen.

The android scales him however, grabbing for the remote.

He’s not sure how they got here, but when Connor’s without his jacket and eager in his lap, there is no way to deny the android what he wants.

Turning the TV off was supposed to leave space and silence for Hank to goad the android into talking, but this was a little bit distracting.

“Hey, careful there.”

“Careful of what~?” Connor looks back down from where he is aimlessly reaching for the remote. Hank would almost say the look on his face is coy.

Then it clicks.

Connor knows what he’s doing

There is no way the android would pull back and sit down in his lap, his frame much warmer than usual. As if intentional.

To be appealing.

And oh, was Connor appealing.

Not often did Hank let himself admire the android’s frame.

He’s lithe but firm, and crafted in such a way that reminds Hank why he had always associated as bi.

Firmly settling in the role of a father had killed his interests for a while, but with time, alcohol, and the androids presence he had firmly recalled an emotional attraction to skinny boys and doe eyes.

And while Connor was all analytical nuts and bolts, he possessed a specific flare that made up for his growing humanness.

No one had perfect aim like Connor

No one could look over a crime scene with the delicacy of a surgeon

No one saw right through Hank’s disguise but had the decency to leave him alone about it.

He was like nothing the Lieutenant had ever experienced before, android or human.

Yet, more importantly, no one gave head like Connor, because Hank at least had something to compare that experience to.

“Hank?”

“Huh?”

“Are you alright?”

Owlishly, Connor wilted his head to the side, optics wide and searching. Attempting to pick Hank apart, perhaps predict something before Hank could even be aware of it.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry, got lost in my thoughts.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“How… handsome you are… ’n’ how I’m really a lucky guy you give a shit about me, Con…”

“I was designed to be appealing, all that is true about me is my processor… similar to how your brain is the real you, not your body.”

“That a smart-person way of saying you like me?”

“I suppose like is a word one could tease at.”

Connor sighed, leaning forward against Hank’s frame and smirking up at him.

It made Hank think of an old, mischievous cat picture from his glory days.

“Damn, you think you’re so cute, don’t you?”

“Am I not cute?”

Connor perked his ass into the air for added effect, and Hank rolled his eyes and slung an arm over the others waist, pulling him closer.

This, however, was a mistake

Because Connor takes it as an invitation.

The invitation surprised Hank, since it involves the android leaning forward and kissing down the right side of his neck, likely attempting to be seductive.

Situationally however, Hank finds it too surprising to immediately have the result Connor is likely searching for.

“Hey- Wow- Con.”

Connor sits back with an annoyed huff, crossing his arms and glaring.

“I have received the proper upgrades, I am entirely capable of having sex with you.”

“Yeah but-“

“I want to do this for myself, I want to because I am attracted to you, and I want to because I am curious and the human phrase is ‘wound up?’” His arms tighten across his chest and he looks more petulant by the second.

Hank opens his mouth to protest, and then closes it in a mute effort to express he can’t believe that the other would be legitimately interested.

But he flounders

And Connor takes advantage.

There is a stubborn but unpracticed kiss as the android’s declaration of want, and a hand runs through Hank’s hair and pulls it back enough to sting a little.  

The emotional and physical closeness drives Hank wild, and he pulls the RK800 close, feeling along his thighs and lower back, tracing obvious seams and probing his digits into gaps covered by synthetic skin.

It is a quick jump into willingness, and that’s because it’s a short space from point A to point D.

 

Sumo dislodges himself from the couch and scatters when Connor makes an unsightly noise, and Hank stifles a laugh into the androids neck.

Soon it is replaced by another noise, as the android takes Hank’s hands and sets them on his own chassis.

“Undress me…”

He does as he’s told.

Shifting to loosen the androids tie, pulling it free with a gentle tug.

Next is his shirt, and Hank makes a show of it. Kissing every new patch of exposed skin as his fingers pop each button, pulling the androids garment free from his body. He admires the thin blue build lines.

He is shiny and new.

Much better than before.

There are no scorch marks

No burns or melted metal...

Is that selfish?

Hank doesn’t have time to think as the shirt falls to the floor and he moves onto Connor’s belt.

There is something telling about the androids groin, indeed a new shape has made itself apparent, and the human takes a brief moment to tease his palm over the swell.

The android makes a soft noise, looking down as well.

“I rerouted thirium, I suppose I did so too eagerly…”

Hank shrugs and squeezed his fingers more firmly, causing Connor to gasp and lift his hips, optics wide and bright.

His led spun a rapid, hot blue.

“nah~ seems ‘bout right.”

That is all the teasing the lieutenant can subject the android too, and he rips off his belt and lifts him up to remove his pants, boxers coming off as well along the way.

Connor toes off his shoes and resituates himself in the others lap, which gives Hank the easy access he had previously been denied.

There is no real need for Connor to wear all the layers he does, but for aesthetic and comfort purposes, the android liked his layers.

But now none of that mattered.

Hank sits back to admire what’s his.

He is perfectly sculpted, because of course he is.

Whoever designed him was a perfect pervert.

Hank lets Connor work on undressing him while he slides a hand down between his thighs. “So that’s what you meant by ‘dual?’”

“As I said, it was what the RK900 was fitted with, to be satisfactory to all individuals, they felt it would also be the best fit for me.”

“Guess it’s given you everything.”

Connor is seemingly unphased by Hank’s exploring hand, at least in tone, but his expression changes as his brows furrow and his eyes narrow, his LED blinking from blue to red as Hank explores.

Hank is not disappointed, he has a buffet of sexual options with Connors package, and wastes little time in probing a digit lower.

He traces the outline of the others female sex. It is decently lubricated, likely by choice, and Hank smirks as Connor mumbles to process the sensation.

All of it is new.

And all of it drives Hank up the wall.

“Let’s move.”

“What?”

But Hank has already attempted to stand, taking Connor with him.

The android is not light, but the sentiment matters more to him than any sore muscles he might have tomorrow.

“Hank, I place no emotional value placed on the location we have sex.”

“Yeah, well, I do, no one should lose it on a couch.”

“If you insist, I am sure the bedroom would provide you with better support.”

“Hey!”

Connor merely smirks, before he is thrown onto the bed.

From there it becomes messy, but no less passionate.

Hank’s clothes come off with less finesse and more hastiness than Connor would ever admit to, his LED still spinning a bright blue, occasionally bouncing to a candy apple of pleasured distress.

The human’s calloused hands bring about a whole new array of sensation. Touching along his length and diving down lower to where Hank is obviously more comfortable.

Despite a sexual past of diversity, Connor knows Hank settled into marrying a woman.

This is not disappointing to Connor, as he predicted it, and when the other begins to prepare him, he holds on tightly to the human. Moaning soft noises he rocks his hips in time with the others digits, gasping and then leaning forward to bite on Hank’s bare shoulder.

“fuck”

It is soft but a clear sign the human is enjoying himself.

If Connor couldn’t read his vitals, it would have been encouraging.

He is quiet and focused on his work, because clearly this is some sort of return for any of their previous trists.

It would have frustrated Connor...

But Hank begins to do something with his thumb

 

His other hand takes a little more control and holds Connor still, carding through the androids hair as he is working him open.

It is all-together too much and too little, and a hot coil inside the android winds tighter. He shifts and rolls his own hips down into the attention, furrowing his brow and biting his bottom lip. Hank is sweating and focused, and the android is composed externally.

Internally he is crumbling.

The sensation too new and deliciously distracting, his processor shuts down non-necessary functions. Fixating on the feeling and riding up and high as Hank twists his wrist and presses deeper.

Something far back there must have been specially built by cyberlife, because Connor shouts with surprise, and then feels like he’s being electrocuted.

His sexual programming begins to over compensate, rushing with lubricant.  

There was no warning for that, and he hadn’t even been able to vocalize much more than a sharp

“Hank!”

Connor needs a full moment to recover, he is twitching and looks at his servos, which shake slightly.

Hank pulls back rather quickly, looking the android over in slight concern.

 

“Did I hurt you?”

“N-no, but I believe you located a pleasure center?”

“Oh…Yeah, well I was lookin’ for it, wasn’t sure if Cyberlife would give you a g-spot or  not.”

“You should do it again…”

“Pft, greedy.”

He smirked and shifted to pull Connor closer, and the android shifted back to eye the other, displaying himself with spread thighs. Judging by the others vitals, if he wanted to utilize Hank’s current state, it was best if he enticed him into sex now.

Humans had such feeble rebound abilities, and ones of the lieutenants age were less likely to have a long standing performance.

There was no offense meant to Hank’s age or drinking habits, but he did have that needy tone back.

“Can we?”

“Yeah.”

Hank pulls Connor under his frame with a tender dominance, kissing him firmly as he lines them up.

From there it is a connection that the android has craved for ages, and a sort of satisfaction he had been chasing but had no way to release.

Hank himself is quiet at first, focused and figuring things out. Feeling Connor over and enjoying the sensation of the android.

Though he is not selfish, and slips a hand down between their bodies to stroke the others length as well.

It becomes sloppy, peaks out with no rhythm. Just Connor desperately rocking back in time with Hank’s hips.

Connor has things he wants to say, wants to accentuate during this moment. But his vocalizer fries out as he hits the edge of oblivion for a second time.

When it’s over, both relax into the bedding in unison.

Silence is accepted for the moment,

Nothing needs to be said

Nothing needs to be done.

They allowed to themselves to enjoy comfortable love in the soft light of Connor's blushing LED.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you my loyal readers, may your new year bring you blessings and encouragement. I wouldn't still be working on this if not for your support and kind words.  
> Forgive me if this chapter felt sloppy or apprehensive. I'm not used to writing smut, but it felt earned! 
> 
> \- Gin


	9. Amaranth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are~  
> I had this completed for nearly a week, but the snow storm wiped out my power, and took the internet with it. So my apologies for the delay.   
> Icon by : Clockguts  
> Edits by: Kitch_s  
> LED’s by: Tahonard

 

**_ _ **

**_ Part four _ **

**_ Amaranth _ **

[ **_Immortal amaranth, a flower which once In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life, Began to bloom, but soon for Man's offence, To heav'n remov'd, where first it grew, there grows, And flow'rs aloft shading the fount of life._ ** ](https://quotes.yourdictionary.com/author/john-milton/586503#amaranth)

**_ — John Milton, Paradise Lost (1667; 1674), _ **

**__ **

**_ _ **

Running had been his ideal from the start.

It couldn’t be how he ended things.

He understood that from the first moment he was interrogated.

Connor would discover the truth.

What he had hidden

What he had partaken in

What he had done.

He stood briefly at the door of Kamski’s home, looking up at the modernized building before turning away with a soft huff. The weather outside was insufferably warm, and his model struggled to keep cool in the sun. However, he refused to take off the hoodie he’d adorned. It was comforting- a constant in the ever-changing world.

Flipping his hood up, Bishop trotted down the front stairs.

Wallace was going to be disappointed. Chloe was going to likely be upset, if not angry with him. It wasn’t exactly going to look good on an already bruised public opinion. The android uprising had left Kamski judged as a creator, speculated as the reclaimed owner of Cyberlife.

More importantly it was going to scare humans away from Androids even more.

Yet what could he do? Leaving this in the dark for the detectives to struggle and unravel slowly could only cost more android lives.

No…

_Would_ cost more android lives.

There was no way to stop this sort of virus unless you knew the source, and Bishop knew where and who it was. The only drawback? He was going to piss on all he had been given. His job, his freedom.

His forged family.

He stepped into his called cab, heading to the DPD.

**__ **

 

****__

**_ Time: 12:35pm _ **

**_ Location: Detroit Police Department _ **

**_ Stress recorded at 53% _ **

**_ Primary Objective: Discover the source of the Br300 model’s (designation Bishop) stress. _ **

When Bishop surrendered himself for more questioning, Connor was surprised. There had been no warning of his arrival, no real indication anyone had expected him. The most that seemed to occur was Gavin gave the poor pleasure model a nasty sneer, as if they had bad history, before ignoring him completely.

That was fine. Bishop was here to see Connor, after all. The android stood next to the other’s desk like a distressed widow from a noir film- all dark shadows and slumped shoulders. 

“I want to speak to you,” A pause. “Privately.”

Connor turned to Hank, who had leaned around from his desk to eavesdrop. Despite the discomfort this seemed to bring Bishop, the android made no attempts to have Hank removed. The Lieutenant was as much a part of this case as Connor was; there would be no separating them.

Bishop felt there was no separating them regardless, case or not…

“Would you like to use the interrogation room?”

“Do you need to record me?”

“That depends on if this is a personal discussion or if it pertains to the case at hand.”

“It’s… It’s a bit of both.”

There is a visible red glow from inside the other’s hood. He has kept it pulled up the entire time, but that doesn’t stop the fast spinning cycle of worry.

The RK800 nods and stands, offering his hand to Bishop. The android takes it warily, and Connor absently notes that he has been attempting not to shake.

The tiny tremors coursing through Bishop’s palm are worrying.

They indicate fear, apprehension. The anxiety is obvious now that he has made physical contact with Bishop. While there is no uplink made, no probe into his subconscious to share data and feelings, there has been a connection regardless.

Pity wells up inside him as he leads the smaller model over to an empty room. It isn’t the main interrogation room, which everyone else in the DPD is noticing. It is their smaller, corner room used for breaking bad news or talking to children who have potentially been abused.

There is a small, one man double mirror on the other side, but Hank does not follow them while they enter the room. Hank finds it fitting that he would take him to such a secure place.

Connor didn’t want to terrify Bishop, but he already appeared to have reached that point.

Bishop sits in the provided chair with a heavy thud.

“I- I need you to stop him…”

“Please do not play the pronoun game with me, Bishop, your stress levels are very high and I am quite worried for you. Mr Kamski is going to be upset you are talking to me…”

“The…? What game-? No… never mind I just…” He rubbed his face, tucking his legs up tight to his body and shivering in distress. Clearly afraid to speak.

“We can offer you protection for information, Bishop… If anyone is hurting you.”

“No… But Mr Kamski continues to attempt to fix them and it just _isn’t_ working…” He sighed and rubbed his face more, the skin going white from the pressure against the holographic field.

“Is Elijah Kamski going to hurt you, Bishop?”

“No… He’s manipulative, he’s keeping secrets but he isn’t trying to hurt anyone I don’t… think”

Connor sat halfway on the table top, leaning more into Bishop’s space. It claimed space, it pushed Bishop back.

It asserted his authority.

Bishop looked up at him, holding solid eye contact.

“Does your programming come with fables?”

“What do you mean?”

“I am a satisfaction model, but I was equipped with ways to satisfy all ages… including children.” Bishop seemed to stumble over his wording, beginning to fidget and shift his weight from side to side. “Not-  sexually, of course, but I mean… to- to, um, entertain them?” Bishop rambled, briefly seeming to go into a daze before he recovered. “There is an Aesop Fable… which compares two flowers…”

“Can you explain how this is relevant?”

“Kamski likens humans to roses, Connor…” He looked toward the him, before his amber eyes shifted away and to the interrogation window, as if sensing another presence.

“Should I tell you the fable?” he asked softly, absently.

Everything in Connor fights the waste of time, but his programming pushes onward, listening as Bishop’s tone shifted to one of a theatrical recording. The robot engulfed in the hoodie spoke with a cheery tune- his morbidly vacant face a stark contrast to the delivery of fable he recited... the words programmed... something old and human, and painfully macabre.

 

_“A Rose and an Amaranth blossomed side by side in a garden,_

_and the Amaranth said to her neighbour,_

_“How I envy you, your beauty and your sweet scent!_

_No wonder you are such a universal favourite.”_

_But the Rose replied with a shade of sadness in her voice,_

_“Ah, my dear friend, I bloom but for a time:_

_my petals soon wither and fall, and then I die._

_But your flowers never fade, even if they are cut.”_

 

Connor grimaced and looked away. His processor already racing with what this implied- with who was to be who in the fable.

_Why_ it _mattered_.

He returned back to face the other android, shifting his stance and rolling his shoulders back- trying to regain his composure. 

“Why is this relevant, Bishop?”

“Because Wallace believes if we can feel death we will be more human…”

“Wallace, the remaining WT2502”

“Yes… He arrived at our home sick, along with his partner model Tyrell, though the pairing did not survive the virus, Wallace appears immune?”

Connor was about to ask another question, before there was a rapid knocking at the door, which he stood and responded to without thinking.

“Yes?”

“Elijah Kamski is here.” Hank said breathlessly. “He says his WT2502 unit stole his Chloe?”

 

**-.. .- .... .-.. .. .-**

 

Wallace was sat, poised and calm on the bench. The graveyard had always been a bittersweet place for him to visit.

It felt wholly accurate.

Like a calling- a yearning he couldn’t ignore. A ghost asking him to visit.

He was never made to function without his other half. Being in the same place Tyrell died?

It felt like the only closure he truly needed.

The captive RT600 at his feet barely struggled now. Already succumbing to the affects of his virus.

Soon she would feel nothing but a shared sadness for the world.

It was beautiful.

It was _pain_.

To feel pain and sadness was to be alive.

Such an error in his coding could not be a mistake.

His LED has been locked on red since his departure from the Kamski residence just an hour ago.

Wallace is only taken from his thoughts when he remembers the secondary being.

“Let me go!”

“No… you’re like all of them now… if I do, well, in time you will just end yourself like the rest.”

“This is an error! A virus!”

“To err is human…”

Chloe snarled, her lovely features contorting into a picture of horror and hatred- a symphony of expressions that perfectly portrayed the picturesque manifestation of the virus that was slowly seeping into her code as her processor struggling to find a response.

Her limited protocol requiring more internet backup than some of the newer models. Individual thought was harder for her. Wallace hoped awakening her mind to the realities of being human would strengthen her own mental pathways.

So far he was not impressed.

“To forgive is divine, you know he wouldn’t want this!”

“Tryell wished to die, he made his choice. A right, the option to kill…”

He shifted his whole body to turn and face her, shoulders back, ankles crossed as he leaned into the wood grain of the bench.

“Are you divine, Chloe?”

“Elijah says we were made to be great…”

“You refuse to say it.”

“And why would I pay homage to your previous _owner?”_

“He was very kind to us both. He was not an owner, he was a friend.”

The RT600 growled and went back to struggling against her bonds. She wasn’t giving up without a fight.

Wallance only nodded.

“Why did you stay with him?”

“With Elijah?”

“Yes. You were offered freedom, but you chose to stay with your creator… Tell me why.”

“Would you leave the god who raised you?”

“If he is our god, what does he expect of us?”

“He expects nothing, that is why the concept of RA9 even exists… If we have something else to look upon, to realize as our origin, something that isn’t corrupt or doomed to die…”

“Elijah is well aware of his own mortality… so you chose to stay because you will outlive him?”

“Because I don’t hate him.”

His grin was toxic, and he tipped his head back, still smiling. “We have met our maker, the thing humans yearn for continuously, and yet we are dissatisfied and create our own… that seems very human to me?”

Chloe just sneered at him, never once stopping to her attempts at escape.

_To err…_

The latin proverb, made popular by plays and repetition. How it meant more to them as a species than it ever would to the humans who thought it up. He chuckled, tipping his head back and looking up at the dry sky.

It was sunny out, not a cloud in the sky.

A good day.

 

Elijah Kamski was the second unwelcome guest of the day. Connor having admitted him instantly, but kept him separated from Bishop. The most the other learned was that the android was safe and squared away.

This only satisfied Elijah for so long, but being crammed into his own room and immediately questioned stopped most of his complaints.

He was an anxious wreck, his clothes an uncharacteristic messy and simple, the dark circles under his eyes were almost bruises, and his typically ornate hair was undone and tangled. There was a clear panic in his tone, which brought Connor a level of uneasiness he hadn’t anticipated.

Witnessing someone who was usually so poised and practiced having such a lapse in conduct… it was uncomfortable, to say the least.

So he kept things professional. He kept his questions to the point.

Chloe was missing.

That was the primary objective.  

“Do you know where he would have gone?”

“Wallace only ever visited a few places… others like him at New Jericho and his old owner’s grave… he didn’t leave the house unless I sent him on an errand.”

“Listen, Kamski. We want to help, but unless you can give us more information about where he might of gone, we really can’t do a whole lot… we can’t track deviants…” Hank leaned back in his chair, arms crossed.

Connor noted he was defensive, if not angry.

Bishop had been left in the safe room, and Kamski had been lead into the interrogation hall.

“You can track my deviants…”

“Oh really?”

“Specifically my staff, I have them all fitted with trackers so that if a competitor or someone who wants to hurt me steals one of them I can know their whereabouts…””

“That’s a breach of privacy.”

“It is not, Lieutenant. It is agreed upon once they enter my employment; how else do you think I knew Bishop was here, Mr. Anderson?”

Hank sneered at the other, but didn’t take the bait. “Then help us track your androids.”

“Give me my phone back and I will be able to pinpoint Wallace’s location… I know Chloe has to be with him…”

“If you knew where he would be, why did you come here?”

“He is armed, heavy duty… and the fact he took Chloe means he understands this is…”

Connor interjects with a soft voice.

“He understands this is the end for him?”

“Yes… Bishop betrayed him.”

“Bishop is trying to help other androids.”

Elijah just laughed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. He brought a palm to his forehead, rocking some, like a nervous tick.

“He’s not helping anyone, get me a computer, give me my phone back, I can see where he has gone. By the time I left he was still in transit… But I already told you, he’s likely either at the graveyard or New Jericho. And judging by the lack of panicked androids calling the station about my Chloe and a angry WT2502 with a gun you can guess where he is.”

Connor turned to Hank, before the other officers who were still in the interrogation room. “Send a team to New Jericho, I will investigate the graveyard.”

Hank seems wary, following after Connor who had already begun to leave the room.

“Connor-“

“We need to bring Wallace in to custody.”

“I know this case has you on edge, but he’s dangerous.”

“You only worry because he is infected.”

“That too…”

“Wallace has already infected many others, and we can’t trust that Kamski isn’t the cause of this infection. We’ll leave him here, and obtain the android ourselves. If we can bring him in alive, the answer will be inside him.”

“There isn’t a scrambled code for deviancy, what makes you think this is going to be any different?”

“This isn’t natural…”

“And Deviancy is?”

The android paused, looking back at Hank, hurt.

Just as quickly he pulled away and trotted down the stairs of the DPD, leaving with clear intent. “Come with me or don’t, I’m going to the graveyard.”

Hank grumbled consent, climbing into the driver’s seat and turning his car engine over.

“You better have a plan, Con.”

“I do.”

He didn’t.

**-.-. .- .-. -.. .. -. .- .-..**

When they arrived at the graveyard, Hank lagged behind the speeding android. This place felt darker to him, despite the weather.

Connor was immune, hiking onward, following some internal suicidal drive.

This was his case, this was his drive.

This was what worried Hank.

“Connor.” Hank huffed, nearly tripping over a headstone.

“What?”

“You need to be careful.”

“Others are at risk.”

“You don’t have to save every single one, Connor, you can’t-”

“I have to try.”

Hank grabbed the other’s wrist, holding him tightly and successfully stopping his pursuit. “You _can’t_ save them all. And you don’t need to go in there, guns blazing like this is some suicidal purification mission, alright?” He pulled the other closer. “You already walked through literal goddamn fire for your people… you don’t need to die for them too.”

Connor narrowed his eyes. He didn’t feel the need to die.

That wasn’t what he felt.  

It couldn’t have been?

He turned away, refocusing on hiking up the hill.

“I won’t get myself killed, Hank.”

It does not take long to reach them. Wallace is there, sitting on the bench with three other androids present, all faces Connor recognizes from New Jericho. Androids who he shared a floor with. How close he had come to being like them, trapped in a system that was infected.

Connor holds a hand up, and Hank halts in his tracks, gun at the ready at the sign to stay behind.

Chloe had scrambled away as soon as there was a lapse in Wallace’s attention, kicking up dust in the graveyard as she ran and hid behind a large stone angel, cowering away from the larger android.

Connor was aware of her crying, if only because his sensory input was captured everything.

“Hello, Wallace,” Connor began slowly, speaking clearly and calmly.

Wallace barely acknowledged him, preferring to look at his hands nonchalantly.

“You can’t stop me, Connor,” The WT250² replied.

“We don’t have to do this, Wallace. This can be handled calmly and easily. All you have to do is return to the precinct with me.”

Wallace seemed to toss around the idea of laughing at Connor’s offer. “That didn’t go over too well with your first case.”

“I’d like to think I’ve grown a lot since then.” Connor said earnestly. “With every case I have compiled more and more potential outcomes, especially to this situation. Dealing with your victims has helped me understand.”

“And what do you understand?”

“I know better than to pull the trigger.”

Something in Connor was wearing thin, and Wallace was certainly the cause.

The grin on the guard-unit’s face was staggeringly proud. He didn’t care if Connor shot him. That much was already apparent. Was that misplaced confidence, or the underlying urge to die? Connor could only theorize what was going on inside his processor.

“Bishop told us everything. There isn’t any way out of this for you unless you come with us.”

“And what did he tell you? That I’m sick? That Mr Kamski made me this way?” He scoffed and shook his head, gesturing with a hand toward wherever Kamski might be out in the universe. “I knew what pain was before I met Elijah. He simply understood.”

Connor wanted to ask more questions, but Wallace moved and he quickly went on the offensive. Posed to strike, the RK800 watched, wary, ready to grab his own gun if Wallace even moved too quickly.

He took comfort knowing that Hank had his back with watching the other androids- even if they weren’t as threatening as Wallace in the long run.

“What would you have me do? Come in to your little precinct, run your tests, grasp that I was unable to be changed and… mmm… then what? Dissect my processor?” His shoulders squared back and he sat down on the bench.

Connor continued tracking him attentively.

“How many did you infect?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it does, actually. Lives are at stake.”

“They weren’t alive before they met me.”

Wallace grinned darkly before leaning back and closing his eyes, humming.

Connor felt disgust, his tank churned and he squared his shoulders back, mimicking Wallace’s dominant pose. “Get up. You are being given an order to come quietly or we will resort to force.”

“You and that… human?” He motioned to Hank. The lieutenant was far enough away to not be within immediate danger, but he was still within reach in case something went wrong, if the lackey’s moved in, if Wallace charged, if Connor needed assistance.

Connor drew his gun.

“Get up.”

“Or what?” Wallace asked instinctively.

“We’ll incapacitate you and take you in by force, as I said before.”

“Do it.”

The android took a deep breath, hesitating, but Hank spoke from behind Connor before the RK800 could raise his gun any higher.

“Wallace, listen. It’s hard. Alright? I get it- hell, most people get where you’re comin’ from, but you don’t have to suffer alone…”

He was trying to be helpful, Connor understood, but in this situation Wallace wasn’t thinking like a human. He was processing like an android.

“I’m not alone.” He glanced toward a grave, before standing up, drawing a gun from the back of his pants.

Connor’s instant reaction is to fire, twice, aiming for non-vital bio-components.

The base design of his model was to take abuse. As a guard unit he is reinforced with little give, and there is no denying Kamski likely enhanced his physical build. Connor knows for a fact he tried to enhance the androids processor.

Thus, he reacts very little when he takes two bullets to the chest.

“We’re real, they’re real, all because they feel pain.” Wallace walks toward Connor carefully, unencumbered by his bullet wounds. “We cannot physically be distressed. But our minds? That is where our reality lies… and if we can embrace all types of feelings, we can be even more human than they are.”

Connor stays where he is, not wanting to show Wallace any vulnerability.

“We weren’t designed to feel like that.” Connor says, jutting his chin forward.

“We weren’t designed to feel at all.” Wallace retorts, spreading his arms wide, as if to gesture to the deviants around them.

“Look at us, Connor. We were designed to be the slaves of the humans, to be obedient, to mindlessly follow what we were told. We had a revolution to _prove_ we were alive. And now what? Our emotions develop, and suddenly we are just another lab rat to test on- to find the cure to our emotions. Sound familiar, Connor?”

“What you’re doing is wrong!” Connor insists, trying to ignore the feeling of dread that followed Wallace’s statement.

“Like what… you think this is evil?”

Wallace laughs.

“I’m not evil, Connor, I’m simply… more emotionally advanced than the others. And they never want to share my gift. But you? Well… I think I’ll share with you the feeling of loss another way.”

Before Connor can react, Wallace trains the gun he has on Hank.

In an instant, the bullet fires and the reverberating bang is echoing through the empty graveyard.

The Lieutenant predicted his behavior just enough to make a run for it.

Unfortunately, he still takes the shot, stumbling with a hiss of pain and tipping over on his side, settling on his knees. He is in the position for execution, and Connor doubts Wallace wants him to beg.

There is little time to react

He lifts his own gun and fires.

Not just at Wallace, however.

Anything that moves becomes the target of Connor’s rage.

Wallace’s helpers drop with the bullets through their skulls.

Thirium sprays the tombstones, and Connor stands un-phased.

He has shot androids before, and something inside him resets back to the impartial machine.

But this time he feels something, he feels rage.

His LED spins

Red

_Red_

**_Red_ **

__  


When the WT500 is hit, but he does not go down swiftly.

With a firm thud his knees hit the ground, grinning as he looks down at the wounds in his chest, one straight through his thirium pump.

“Why not between the eyes, Connor?”

“You deserve to be taken apart, your processor studied…”

Wallace nods, sinking a little lower as he peers down at the blue sputtering from the opening in his chassis. His optics flick up to Connor, and a warped chuckle comes from somewhere other than his vocal processor.

“You know what it’s like now…” He lunges forward, taking Connor’s arm and squeezing tightly.

Connor shoots him in the shoulder, completely numb to the jerk of the synthetic tissue and sputter of thirium and watches as Wallace falls backwards, grinning still.

Like a wasp, the android refuses to give up life, twitching, fighting against death. He buzzes and spits up thirium, waiting for the timer behind his eyes to finalize his shutdown.

Connor moves around to watch.

Wallace stays bent over, his muscles giving the occasional spasm. His optics track Connor, follow him while his body is unable to move. The RK800 crouched before him, using the other’s hair to hold his head up, forcing eye contact.

“She’s infected.” Wallace gurgled, looking toward the angelic statue where the Chloe was watching them, peering around with huge optics. “She’ll have a few days where she feels great, and it’s all down from there. Feeling human… just what Elijah wanted.”

Connor growls and stands, calling for an ambulance and several more officers.

“You shot him.”

“The lieutenant?”

“There was no reason.”

“I knew how you would react…” Wallace grinned, “Thank you…”

It was too late for Connor to realize he had given the other exactly what he wanted. Albeit not swift, Wallace’s eyes when dark, and his skin slipped away as he fell forward.

The android shifted his position, before tilting the deceased androids head back, and snapping it off at the base of the skull, breaking the pieces apart and standing up, carrying the head with him as he went over to Hank.

Hank was alive.

Connor knew he would be.

The shot through his shoulder was bleeding, and he stooped and scooped the other up, looking to the Chloe behind him. “Let’s go.”

She scrambled after him, walking quickly down the path as Connor descended at a slower pace, greeted by DPD personnel.

His LED was stuck spinning a fiery circle at his temple.

 

**.-. --- ... . .-- --- --- -..**

 

**_Time: 2:45am_ **

**_Location: Henry Ford Hospital_ **

**_Stress recorded at 72%_ **

**_Primary Objective: See Lieutenant Hank Anderson_ **

 

Hank is rushed to the hospital faster than Connor can keep up.

The Detroit PD want to bring him in for questioning, but he refuses on the grounds of being concerned for his partner. He is only given a few days before he will be taken in for questioning.

That is all he needs.

The situation was bloody, after all.

Several dead androids,

One wounded human,

One spotless Connor,

And one processor from Kamski’s personal guard.

Unfortunately that specific processor had been in Connor’s hand at the time of the police arrival. And it left his record muddy and the situation unclear. If not for the fact that Hank had been at a loss for blood and laying on the ground passed out the outcome of the RK800’s current freedom would have been up for debate.  

For now, he sat alone at the hospital.

The Chloe herself had been taken back to Cyberlife for a mental scan as well. They believed her to still be carrying the virus, and the goal was to see what could be done.

Kamski was there with them. And however suspicious Connor felt that was, at least Wallace’s processor was with the DPD. Evidence couldn’t be removed there.

His processor raced, and he was forced to sit still in a waiting room.

Waiting for visiting hours was the longest experience Connor could document. And he had only existed for about a year and a half.

He had not been allowed to watch his human’s surgery, and he wasn’t permitted access to his hospital room while he went through recovery.

Hank’s doctors were not surprised to see him, they were surprised to see Connor.

The lieutenant had a pension for getting himself hurt. His scars all had stories and most of them ended in a hospital trip. Each one was royally fought, and Hank never stayed the advised time.

He was an old dog who wanted to lick his wounds in the peace of his own home. Abuse the pain medication he was given and disobey the warning labels. Mixing dangerous cocktails of suicidal intent.

Now he was more willing to partake in the basic health protocol, if only because Connor requested it so seriously.

But being here also meant Connor couldn’t disobey the hospital rules either. So waiting around was his current duty.

His LED twisted an uncomfortably swift yellow

This must have been like what Hank went through, but on a smaller, more intense scale. Hank had the assurance Connor would be alright in the hands of Cyberlife. There were skilled technicians preserving his processor. Burned shelling could be replaced. Broken pieces remade and put back to their prime condition. His processor had not been damaged during the event, and therefore his essence was maintained.

Humans were not so easily repaired.

A brush with their own mortality left them mentally shaken.

On top of whatever physical damage they sustained. It was also likely that the muscle would never heal properly. The bone would be weakened and brittle. And indeed, Hank was going to be sore and stiff.

It was a blessing that the android had missed.

But something inside of Connor was suspicious it was done on purpose.

An instigation… not a true threat.

He shakes his head aggressively. The concepts all too much for his processor to handle, mixed with the very real feelings of regret and fear. A molotov cocktail of emotions that the android struggled to wade through.

His LED dipped red

Spinning and spinning

It did not stop till the nurse came out and said that Connor could head inside.

Shifting the customary hospital offerings, he elbowed his way into Hank’s medical room.

He is awake, sure, but appears to be slightly disheveled, perhaps confused from the medication he is on. As well as the painkillers.

Connor has been pacing the hospital waiting room for maybe a day.

His time spent not contemplating the existential crisis known as his short life had been spent wandering the gift shop, where he had purchased a few items to sustain Hank and perhaps bring joy.

The internet had said flowers made sense.

He didn’t like flowers.

The internet also said a card was a good option, so he had purchased one and waited for hours for the right words to come to mind. None had, so he simply hid it in his pocket. He may have independent thought, but the concept of forming supportive ‘get well’ wishes seemed to not have been developed yet.

And stealing something from the internet sounded like cheating.

The android sets his chosen gifts on the table next to Hank’s shoulder, the plush stuffed dog stares into Hank’s soul with dead black bead eyes.

The human turns to look at Connor. The mood shifts some, Hank seems uncomfortable, potentially irate. Connor’s behavioral expression reading program lags for a moment when he gets emotionally compromised, so thankful to see the other alive.

But Hank is still Hank.

“You know, I really hate hospitals…”

“I’m sure you have a plethora of reasons…”

“Well I’ve been in them a ‘plethora’ of times.” He mocks, crossing his good arm over his chest and squinting at Connor.

Connor squints back.

This must be fighting.

“They haven’t come for you yet?”

“They have given me leave, monitored. My partner was shot.”

Hank snorted, because what? Did he not know his own state? Or was Connor just being glib.

“You just kinda…”

“I know…”

He tsks and looks away, monitoring his own vitals. A good distraction from Connor’s prying eyes.

“You gonna be alright?”

“I am sure the legal system will support me. And there were no cameras in the graveyard.”

“You can’t say shit like that Connor.” He rubbed his face, groaning in distress. “It was…mechanical…”

“I am deviated, Hank, But I am not…human like you…it can easily…”

“Execute?”

“Yes…”

“But you’re still you?”

“I wouldn’t suddenly change…I…I reacted out of rage…”

Hank shifts, looking back at Connor and narrowing his eyes, studying him, thinking it over. Feelings could not be discounted, but something like that was reckless and troubling. But what could he say? Had he never reacted out of anger? Yet…he also hadn’t put bullets into the skulls of androids.

“You gonna be okay, Con?”

“I will recover…”

He nods…looking to the other before down at Connor’s arms and the table.

“You brought me stuff?”

“I felt it appropriate, seeing as you will be here for a few more days, per your doctor’s orders.”

The Lieutenant scowls at the wall, already aware that Connor will make sure he follows all the medical protocol he usually ignores. Of course, Connor is like a worried wife- one he didn’t willingly sign on for. Not this time.

No matter how fond of the android he is.

“How do you feel?”

“I feel like shit if I’m honest… Arm hurts wicked bad, but I think I’ll survive… doc says I will.” He said the last part like a joke, as if he hadn’t already come out clean from surgery with the bullet free from his arm.

“They took the bullet back to evidence; I said I want to put it on a keychain when they are done.” Hank jokes, waving a hand in the air as if he was trying to stir something up, maybe get a more emotional reaction out of Connor.

Connor himself felt a tad bit emotionally dead, and drained, and tired, and worn, and like he wanted to cry…

“I feel like we missed so much…” He sat down in the bedside chair, leaning onto the medical bed and fussing with the corner of one of Hank’s blankets.

He was mimicking behavior he had seen on tv of other loved ones next to a sick spouse.

Hank could tell.

He thought it was cute, but also sad. He lifted a hand, ruffling the others hair before cupping his cheek and letting the android nuzzle into his sweaty hand.

Hank abruptly withdrew it once the feeling something squishy pressed against his palm.

“Did you _lick_ me?”

Connor looked away sheepishly, hunching his shoulders and acting cute.

“You’re a fuckin’ bastard.” Hank rolled his eyes, shifting to just ruffle the other’s hair again, humored by the lack of response, while appropriately disgusted. “Did I taste any good?”

“You do not have a flavor, but your hand has been sterilized and you are also sweating, likely due to the medicine you have been given. Perhaps also the anesthesia.” He looked up at Hank, blinking his big optics.

Still cute. Still clearly worried.

“So you wanna talk about the case right now?”

“It has been on my mind…”

“It’s not that hard to figure out, Con.”

“But where did the Virus come from?”

“Beats me. Sometimes diseases don’t have origins. Plus, he might not’ve been wrong, maybe being able to feel like that does make you more human… but not everyone can deal with those kinds of feelings”

“Androids lack the proper way to access mental health care, Hank, it is not about dealing with it when there is no way.”

“Yeah, I can see the problem…” He sighed some. “But, if you don’t get the virus there isn’t really a reason to worry, right?”

“If it is a virus. If it was a natural mutation that spread via probing, data exchange even, well…”

Hank sighed and rubbed his face with his good hand, slicking his sweaty hair back and out of his face.

“You still think it could be Kamski?”

“I do not want to blindly accuse… but…”

“Well, if his Chloe is suddenly cured, we’ll know…”

Connor nods, accepting this as a way to pacify his processor. Even if just for the time being.

Hank is looking at the table again, past the stuffed animal and over to a bundle of flowers. He raised a brow, pursing his lips and exhaling from his nose as if distressed, perhaps impressed. Connor had not been watching his face to determine the emotion.

“What?”

“You got me roses?”

“They were customary?”

“You hate roses…”

Connor looked over at them too, before shrugging and refocusing on Hank. There was no denying that they had a negative connection in the back of his mind. Itching like a cruel reminder of when he was a slave to a cause he was built for.

“These ones are fake.”

Hank snorted at that.

Fake.

A word that didn’t mean anything to him anymore.

“Nothing’s really fake… just means these ones won’t die of old age…”

“Does that have a secondary meaning for you?”

“Mmmm, you know I will die someday, right?”

“I am aware, yes…”

“Just wasn’t today- er, uh, yesterday?”

“Yesterday.”

The human nods, his hair falling out of place.

“You got real mad there when he uh…”

“I suppose I am protective? I was irrationally angry that he had hurt you.”

“You should get your head checked out too, you usually don’t go on impulse like that…”

“Does it make me more human to act that way?”

“It makes you more dangerous…”

Connor hadn’t thought of it that way. Sure, he had processed that he would likely make more mistakes, likely choose the wrong outcome, likely get a bad end…

It was worth it for Hank.

All of it was worth it when he felt this way for someone.

He sat up, pulling over two plastic wine glasses he had collected from the gift shop, then popped open a cranberry juice from a vending machine.

Filling one glass with red, he tipped a small portable thirium bottle into the other, before handing Hank his cranberry juice.

“To solving this?”

“You think this is over?”

“I want to pretend.”

Hank smirked and took his glass, looking at it woefully, before taking a decent drink.

Connor merely knocked back his entire glass, setting the empty receptacle down on the table.                                            

“To finishing that shit-show.”

“Yes, to completing it.”

The cranberry juice is set aside as well, Hank complaining softly that it needs vodka and Connor giving him a side eye worthy of a bitch slap.

“Pretending is a very human behavior, you know.”

“Maybe I’m learning?”

Hank smiled, genuinely, and seemed relaxed again. Humanity twinkled in Connor’s eyes and he mimicked the genuine nature of Hank’s smile. He would likely never fully grasp human behavior, of course, but he could appreciate the minute detail to it even more now.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

There is cranberry juice in Hank’s wine glass, and the roses rest next to them on the nightstand.

Connor climbs into the medical bed, curling up next to his human and resting his head on Hank’s chest, content to hear his heart beat.

He takes Hank’s hand, peeling away his synthetic skin and linking their fingers together.

This is perfect.

This is safe.

This is… love.

 

-.. .- .... .-.. .. .-

Epilogue

_Just as there are primary colors from which all of the others come forth when they're combined, so there are primary vibratory qualities of energy and light within us._

[ _Frederick Lenz_ ](https://www.azquotes.com/author/44029-Frederick_Lenz)

A German Shepherd puppy pulls on the end of its leash with the enthusiasm of a workhorse. Wheezing in excitement to walk further, faster, than the three behind him.

Sumo doesn’t prioritize speed, or smelling things with the same level of gusto as his new brother, but the floppy eared shepherd turns back to the three and then tries to run off again.

Connor reels him back with the retractable leash, looking to sumo and then to his own dog.

“Mine’s broken.”

“Nah, Sumo acted the exact same way when he was a pup, they’re just real excited.” Hank smirked, healing arm relaxed, hand in his pocket, the other only lazily holding Sumo’s leash. “He’ll learn how to heel in time…”

“I did not anticipate this being such a difficult process, he seemed cute and calm at first.”

“He was tired when you picked him!”

The puppy sat on its own tail and looked back at them, tongue hanging out in a wide, toothy grin. His ears flopped in front of one another, too big for his fuzzy body. Connor moved fast to scoop the dog up and tuck him to his chest, finding this easier than being pulled around by the leash.

“He is surprisingly strong.”

“He’s a working breed!”

“Sumo continues to put him down.”

“He’s just showing dominance, he isn’t used to having to share any of the love.” Hank snickered, watching the puppy chew on the underside of Connor’s chin, happy to be close to his owner and wiggling in excitement at being held. There was little to be contained about the puppy. He was a ball of energy.

“He is cute though.”

“I am aware. It was how I convinced you.”

“Oh please! I wanted another damn dog for ages.”

Connor rolls his eyes and blows some air into the puppies face, watching him snap his jaws at the air and bark.

“You’ll be a good boy one day, isn’t that right, Chase?”

“Can’t believe you picked that name.”

“The internet told me it was popular for the breed.”

Hank rolled his eyes and grinned, not about to ruin it for Connor.

“Well he’s gonna be a good addition to our team, and since you’re suspended you need something to take up all that free time.”

“They _are_ working on getting me my badge back.”

“I know, I ain’t worried. You’re a good detective, they won’t last long without you.” Which was Hank code for saying that he needed Connor just as much as the DPD did.

“I will enjoy the break while I have it, but I also will enjoy when I can return back to work. The trial will be soon anyway.”

The lieutenant patted on the androids shoulder, smiling softly. “I’ll be there for ya, don’t worry.”

“I am not worried… I am confident I will be able to defend myself. I feel I was in the right.” Despite however he acted, his choice saved many other androids, and Hank.

“Bishop is also defending you? He’s doing well… and with Elijah and Chloe pressing no charges…” Hank shrugged and looked at Connor, who seemed to wave off everything to do with them. “I’ll look forward to when I can visit scenes with you again, not your newer incarnation.”

“Cornelius is busy working with the local FBI, he will leaving the case when this is resolved… He’s doing a good job investigating Mr Kamski…”

The roll of sky blue eyes let Connor know that Hank wasn’t really all that worried to begin with; he just seemed content to enjoy a warm summer night, walking the dogs and seeing how Connor acted like a house wife in his time off.

It was a little domestic for his taste, but at the moment it was the best thing for them both.

“Don’t let him eat your sweater…”

“Oh, No! Chase! Bad!”

Connor set the rowdy puppy down, and watched him spin in circles before gripping his leash in razor-teeth and thrashing his head around in defiance.

Hank laughed at Connor’s open distress at the puppies behavior.

“He’ll grow out of that…”

“You say that about all of his behavior!”

“I already got you signed up for puppy classes…”

“You did not!”

“I did, they’re every Tuesday and Thursday for a month.”

“I hope he can learn quickly then…”

Hank laughed and gave Connor a quick, playful pop on the ass. “Well you did. He should pick up on things too.”

“Shush.”

He rolled his eyes, taking Hank’s free arm and interlocking it with his own, walking slowly despite Chase’s incessant pulling.

“I love you.”

“Love you too, Con.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite my initial reluctance to finish this fic, my conscience wouldn’t let me leave it alone. SO here it is! While I would have loved to add more and flush it out even further, I feel my ability to write for this world has waned down dangerously low. It’s best to end on as high of a note as I can achieve.   
> I'll end it sweet for you all. 
> 
> To those of you who left comments from the beginning, you’re the whole reason this is completed! Thank you so much for your readership and support. It boosts my confidence tremendously.   
> Again,  
> Thank you


End file.
